tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62625897022735709122018-03-05T19:53:45.946-05:00Start at the BeginningGive us the beginning of your book. This is a great place to read the opening chapter from a wide variety of books. There could be something of interest to you.Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-14093316129912528952010-02-01T07:57:00.001-05:002010-02-01T10:02:47.601-05:00Iggy the Iguana by Melissa M Williams<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/S2btC0Kh53I/AAAAAAAAEcI/MDLdis6br8o/s1600-h/Iggy+Final+Cover+2.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/S2btC0Kh53I/AAAAAAAAEcI/MDLdis6br8o/s320/Iggy+Final+Cover+2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433290633087412082" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:29pt;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I</span></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >ggy recognized the aroma of sautéed spinach and mushrooms coming from downstairs as he nervously washed his face and combed his spines. On this particular morning, Iggy would have much rather crawled back in bed! For some reason, he had lost his appetite for his favorite meal of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>As the tired iguana tiptoed down to the kitchen, he carefully held his long, clumsy tail in one hand. Waking up his little sister, Molly, on the wrong side of the bed would be a morning tragedy. Molly was known for throwing major temper tantrums.<span style=""> </span>Iggy sat down and stared hopelessly at his breakfast.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >“What’s wrong, son?” asked his mother, when she noticed Iggy hadn’t touched his favorite dish.<span style=""> </span>“Aren’t you feeling well?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Mom, what if I’m the only iguana in my class?” “Honey, are those butterflies fluttering around in your tummy again?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Uh, I guess,” admitted the shy lizard. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“It’s natural to be nervous about your first day at a new school,” Mrs. Green said, trying to comfort her son.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“I know, but what if everyone is bigger than me? What if I’m allergic to furry animals?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Sweetie, you can’t go to an all-lizard school forever!” his mom laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Because, it’s time for you to meet animals who are different than you. Now try to eat some breakfast so you will have enough energy to concentrate on your lessons.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Iggy had attended the same elementary school all his life in a suburban area outside of Houston, called Harris County. He never had to worry about making new friends because he attended school with the same twelve lizards ever since Pre-K. Iggy considered this group of lizards to be more like family than friends. The idea of making new friends was terrifying for the reserved iguana.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>As Iggy began to eat his green meal, the back door swung wide open. Iggy perked up to the sight of his dad bouncing in with a huge, open-mouthed smile on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >“Good morning, Champ,” said his dad. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Hi Dad, how was your morning run?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“It was nice, but a bit humid. I think I got bit.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“By a mosquito?” Iggy asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, but I can’t complain. I can take the<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Houston humidity and bugs for these flat trails any day. Besides son, we’re lizards. We like this heat.”<span style=""> </span>Mr. Green was a professional runner. Iguanas are known for their speed and great running legs. Mr. Green’s daily life revolved around racing.<span style=""> </span>He trained at Memorial Park and coached other runners on the side. The Green family had to move into the city so that he could be closer to the training grounds. Iggy wanted to be an athlete just like his dad one day.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Just as Iggy started to forget his butterfly problem, his mom walked over to the table and said, “I bet your dad was nervous on the day of his first race,” as she handed her husband a glass of water.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“I’ll say! Nervous and excited at the same time,” chuckled Mr. Green.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Yep, the butterflies were back. “I’m just nervous, Dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >“Well, of course you’re going to be a little skittish. It’s that fear of the unknown. But it’s a good fear. It means you’re alive and full of healthy energy, son!”</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Fear of the unknown? It sounded like Iggy’s dad was talking about a mission to space or something, not fourth grade! Dad’s words just weren’t helping this time.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>After breakfast, Iggy’s mom dropped him off at school, which was right down the street. “Just be yourself, honey. You are such a likeable lizard!” It really did pain Iggy’s mom to watch her son in such an uncomfortable situation. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“MEMORIAL ELEMENTARY,” Iggy read across the front of the school door as he slowly crept through the entrance. Due to the slowness of his creeping, Iggy didn’t have enough time to get his long tail all the way inside before the door<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >closed. “Ouch!” screamed Iggy. He turned around, trying to shake his tail loose before someone noticed his clumsy move.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Are you okay?” asked a voice from behind.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Great. He did have a witness. Iggy slowly looked up to see a beautiful lime green and tan lizard.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Hi,” she said, “I’m Lizibeth. I know how it feels to get your tail stuck in the door!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Iggy was a bit tongue-tied as he searched for something to say back. “That wasn’t my first time, either,” he shrugged.<span style=""> </span>“I’m Iggy. Iggy the Iguana.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Whoa! Your tail is sooo long!” Lizibeth gasped as she looked down to see if his tail was hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" >Iggy self-consciously pulled his tail close to his body, trying to hide its length. “I hate dragging this useless thing around all day!”</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“I hear yah!” laughed Lizibeth. “So what grade are you in, Iggy?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Me? Um ... ” he paused, “fourth.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Me too!” she smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Iggy quickly added, “And today is my first day at this school.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Lizibeth tried to put the fidgety iguana at ease. “Oh, you’ll love it here. Everyone is so nice!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>As Iggy looked around, he noticed the clock on the wall. “We don’t want to be late on the first day of school!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“It’s okay, we don’t have to walk far,” Lizibeth reassured him.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:11pt;" ><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Both lizards started walking toward the fourth grade classroom. Iggy was happy that he had already made a new friend, and she was a lizard. It was nice to have something in common. Hopefully the rest of the animals would be just as friendly.</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-88908927521457957732010-01-23T23:25:00.000-05:002010-02-04T23:28:54.285-05:00Pretty Smart: Lessons From Our Miss Americas by Penny Pearlman</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 24pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">Lesson 1: Beauty from the inside out<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“It’s wonderful to watch a pretty woman with character grow beautiful.” Mignon McLaughlin, author and former editor of Vogue<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">People say that because these women are beautiful doors open for them. The former Miss Americas interviewed for this book admit to that. But what they will also tell you is that the door closes with a bang if there is no substance behind the beauty. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Shawntel Smith (1996) said, “I’m going to be honest and say that appearance does matter. Being attractive will get you through the door, but it won’t help you keep a seat at the table, get the position, or have the opportunity. What counts is your intellect, your personality and the integrity with which you walk into a room. Your determination and perseverance are what will get you the job. A lot of beautiful women vie for the crown each year. So why not crown them all? There’s only one girl who can win the title of Miss America. It takes more than just a pretty face.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once you meet our Miss Americas, you can’t help but put aside any notions about the women who become beauty queens. Though many of them are certainly drop-dead gorgeous, you can walk down the street and see any number of equally attractive women. It’s not just their long legs or shiny hair that makes them beautiful. Their warmth, intelligence, poise and generous natures make them knockouts. The confidence and life-changing experience of succeeding at a high target they set for themselves and being spokeswomen for causes they support changed their inner perceptions of themselves and can change our view of them as well.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tawny Godin (1976) observed that people who may at first appear ordinary become more beautiful as you get to know them. “The way you carry yourself, the way you walk into a room has little to do with your physical beauty. You could be the mousiest person on the planet in terms of the way you look, but if you believe in yourself and know who you are, people get it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As my friend’s mom used to say, “You know, the girl who won Miss <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> wasn’t that pretty before, but now that she’s won, she’s gotten much prettier.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 18pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">From the inside out<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Some people who are considered beautiful base much of their identity on their external appearance. You may be drawn to them initially, but if they aren’t genuine, it won’t be long before you are looking elsewhere for companionship. Unless they nurture what is inside, their external beauty will fade as they age. “Being physically beautiful can change many times in your life at any age based on your personality,” says Ericka Dunlap (2004). “I’ve seen beautiful, exotic looking women who are arrogant, rude and pretentious. They would have been a lot lovelier if they had had a better attitude, because attitude determines your beauty.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nicole Johnson (1999) will tell you, “Beauty is not make-up and curls and glitz but is found in struggle or challenge, the beauty from within.” She recognizes that beauty can be an asset to open doors as long as it is more than physical. “Science proves that attractiveness is an asset in business. I would agree with that but I think attractiveness is subjective. I rely on attractiveness of the heart more than anything else. Along with my intelligence, my heart and my emotions are my calling cards.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Donna Axum (1964) agrees. “I think anyone who is attractive, whether or not she is Miss America, has a leg up on less attractive people. It’s just common sense that it will get you through the door, but credentials have to follow. You have to be able to sell yourself, your abilities and your ideas if you are interviewing for a position. It’s like we say in the selection process for Miss America, you’ve got to bring the whole package.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But many of the Formers discovered that their beauty and celebrity as Miss America could be a handicap in the professional world. It became, as Donna put it, a double-edged sword. “Many women will say that a certain person advanced so much farther because she is beautiful. That’s an excuse. If you’ve got the ability and the professional fortitude, then jump in there and get going. Those are the attributes that people are looking for. Without that you’re just another aging pretty face.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our Miss Americas have the ability to change our opinion of them by their authenticity, their intelligence, their genuine interest in others and their ability to enlighten and educate without putting others down. They encompass charm, wit, warmth and wisdom rolled into one lovely package.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">Too fat, too thin<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You would think that these women, given the highest endorsement of beauty by winning the crown, would see themselves as others see them. Not so. They are just like a lot of us. Many of our Miss Americas struggled with their self-image when they were children. They say that they did not feel pretty and cite crooked teeth, big ears and plump bottoms.<b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Gretchen Carlson (1989), who now shops in the petite department, will tell you that she packed a few extra pounds when she was younger. “I was a tomboy, not into my looks at all. I struggled with my weight my whole life, especially as a child. I was a chubby kid who faced a tremendous amount of ridicule. When I overheard a guy I wanted to go out with say, ‘She’s a really nice girl, but she’s too fat,’ I got my act together and lost thirty pounds. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The morning after I became Miss America I shared that story at my first press conference. I thought it would be inspirational to young girls to know that you don’t have to fit into this perfect mold to end up becoming Miss America. I told the press that my brother used to call me nicknames like Blimpo. The next day the headline in the <i style="">National Enquirer</i> read ‘Blimpo Wins Miss America Pageant.’ That’s how they spun it. I thought I was giving a positive message.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">During her individual interview, Jennifer Berry (2006) was asked by one of the judges, “Do you think you’re pretty?” “We were in the middle of a political debate,” Jennifer said. “I couldn’t believe he asked me that. I was not popular in school. I had big, thick glasses, crooked teeth and curly, frizzy hair. I’ve been 5' 8" since I was twelve years old and grew up being teased. I told the judges that I had never thought of myself as pretty because I was tormented and made fun of so much. I was just dorky. I’m twenty-three years old and I’ve been Miss America but sometimes I still feel like that awkward little girl.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Being with other women who are perceived as beautiful and accomplished can be intimidating. For many of the Formers, appearing at the national pageant was a bit daunting. Many did not feel that they fit the mold of a beauty queen, but they knew they had other qualities that would help them shine.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When Tawny Godin (1976) went to Atlantic City at nineteen years old, she looked around at the other contestants at a fancy dinner one night before the Pageant. “Miss Illinois was seated right where I could see her. She had a yellow dress on that night, long dark hair like me and false eyelashes. She looked perfect. I had never been that appearance-conscious as a teenager. When I became Miss New York State, the pageant people taught me how to use false eyelashes and made me cut my hair. I had hair so long that I could sit on it. That night I was looking around thinking, ‘What am I going to do? I don’t belong here.’ I thought that you needed to know certain things and have a certain look in order to fit in. I definitely didn’t have that look. That just wasn’t who I was.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tawny characterized herself as a preppy who wore corduroy pants and crew neck sweaters with turtlenecks. She knew little of the techniques the other contestants employed. “Some of these girls were putting masking tape on their butts to hold their bathing suits down and using contouring to enhance their bust line. I had never even thought about doing anything like that. I didn’t even know that sort of thing existed. When I saw people putting Vaseline on their teeth I couldn’t figure out what they were doing.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lee Meriwether (1955) didn’t know she had been entered in the Miss San Francisco pageant until the day of the audition. Back then, someone else could sign up a contestant. “One of the fraternities at the University of San Francisco where I was in school had entered my name. To this day I don’t know who. I would never have entered on my own. All I knew about the Miss America Pageant was that it was a bathing beauty contest. I was not one to don a swimsuit very often. I grew up a skinny, awkward kid with big dumbo ears and a snaggle tooth. I was gawky and gangling. [Lee is almost 5' 9" tall.] When I didn’t get a role, people would say I was too pretty. But when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see that. My first rejection happened when I was twelve years old. I was told that I was too pretty to play Mrs. Lincoln. It’s happened over and over. I could have understood being told, ‘You’re a terrible actress,’ but it has never played right for me that the emotional depth I can bring to the role is negated because they think I’m too pretty.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Several decades later Lee was surprised when she saw herself again in the 1966 <i style="">Batman</i> film in which she played Catwoman. “Just recently they had a retrospective of <i style="">Batman</i> at one of the theaters and they invited me. I thought that it would be fun to see my face on the big screen. When I saw myself I went, ‘Wow! I looked pretty good.’ Why didn’t I see it back then? Why wasn’t I aware of how I looked?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As number eight in a family of ten children Angie Baraquio (2001) always thought her older sisters were prettier than her. “I always felt like I was too fat or too short or too something. When you participate in a pageant, people have this perception of you as being beautiful. It goes back to your own perception of yourself and your self-esteem. It took years for me to realize that the outside part will come when I just work on my inside.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Every one of us struggles with doubts about our appearance at some point in our lives. We worry that we are not pretty enough, tall, short or thin enough. We wish our hair were straight or curly, our bottom bigger or smaller. When we realize that beauty comes from the inside out, then we can nurture our nature as much as we attend to our appearance.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">What the judges see </span></b><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Many people misconstrue the intent of the Pageant, believing that it focuses predominantly on physical attractiveness. The job description for Miss America describes a broad range of skills and personality characteristics. As a scholarship program that promotes the ideal of a well-rounded woman, the Miss America Organization looks for someone who “represents the best of contemporary women… The youth of our nation must be able to find her as someone to whom they can relate; but, at the same time, she must present a professional image when called upon to meet with corporate communities…” She is charged by the Organization to “be able to motivate people from every age-range and socio-economic background to action and they must walk away feeling that having heard Miss America speak made a difference for them at that moment in time… She is on call twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week for the duration of her time as Miss America... The role of Miss America is only limited by the capabilities and the desires of the woman who wears the crown… Miss America must be able to push herself and the organization to live up to the responsibilities of being such a person.” That’s a daunting task for anyone, let alone a young woman between the ages of seventeen and twenty-four.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">During the Pageant process, each of the contestants meets with the judges’ panel for a twelve-minute interview. The public never sees these interviews, which are held during the week before the televised contest. The contestants know that their eloquence during this brief time can make or break their potential for being in the top fifteen and ultimately Miss America. They know that they must be articulate and knowledgeable about their platform, current affairs and a variety of other topics; be able to answer questions spontaneously and comfortably; exhibit an air of confidence and poise; and present their case as to why they should be crowned Miss America. That’s a tall order for a twelve-minute interview. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Donna Axum (1964), who is currently on the board of directors, lays out some of her specific criteria when judging. “The most important thing that Miss America does is talk to audiences, individuals and the national press and media. Her speaking skills have to be tops in my book. When I judge, I like to delve under the first question and see what kind of in-depth knowledge the contestants actually have on an issue. They’ve got to be smart. They’ve got to be quick-minded. On the other hand, they’ve got to be approachable, personable and relaxed when you talk to them, with a quick, easy wit. I look for a genuineness of heart and spirit, which is difficult to quantify, and a sense of compassion for people or causes. They’ve got to be talented because they may perform a lot on the road. I was one of the first performing Miss Americas. The more usable you are, the more appearances you have. They have to be stunning. When she walks into the room, people have to say, ‘Yup, there’s Miss America. She’s the whole package.’ ” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Miss America Organization used to define the qualities that Donna looks for in the winner as confidence and poise. Today the Organization calls it the “it” factor.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tara Holland’s (1997) goal was to have the judges see who she was on the inside. She felt that if she was able to communicate that, then she would win, regardless of the outcome of the competition. “The more involved I became in the system, the more sure I was that the only thing that would set me apart from the others would be how I conducted myself in that interview room. At the Miss Kansas pageant I had a very academic interview and was frustrated because I didn’t feel that my personality came through. I did win Miss Kansas, but I was determined that the Miss America judges were going to find out who I really was. I came to realize that that there could have been another young woman named <st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place>, with long dark hair who sang opera and had literacy as a platform in that room. Somebody could look just like me on paper, but I was the only person who had the thoughts, convictions and passions that I had. That was all that mattered.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place st="on">Tara</st1:place> ended her interview at the national<span style=""> </span>Pageant feeling that she had succeeded in showing her best to the judges. “I’m passionate about the program because it promotes the complete package of what it takes to live a successful life. You’ve got to take care of yourself and your body. You need to work on what you’re naturally gifted to do and know what your passions are. You need to be able to communicate well, then you need to be involved in your community in some way.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The judges I spoke with said that it wasn’t the winners’ physical beauty that set them apart, but their ability to command the stage, their charisma and self-confidence. The winners had that indefinable quality of poise that made them glow in a group of winners.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Vernon DeSear, a Pageant judge, watches the way a contestant connects with the audience. “The most important thing that I look for in any young woman is her ability to command the room and the stage.” Leonard Horn, former CEO of the Miss America Organization and a judge, said, “There is a charisma, a self-confidence that comes through to those of us who are watching or judging them. You can see that positive self-esteem just in the way they interact with the crowd. On the stage you can look at all the contestants and certain ones stand out. They have a confidence about them. They know who they are. They know where they’re going. They have a goal-oriented way about them. It just shows.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rebecca King (1974), who has been a judge and is on the board of the Miss America Organization, describes the “it” factor. “I believe you could put a Miss America in a room with a hundred young women and you’d find her in about three minutes.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Having been a judge, Susan Powell (1981) is well versed in what that inner glow looks like. “It all happens in that private interview. There are strict guidelines about what you look for – about what Miss America should be. It’s a scary thing as a judge. You will be changing some young woman’s life. When she walks into the room and there is something about her, the way she walks, the way she speaks and the level of honesty with which she communicates, that inner something is apparent. It’s a quality that is almost indefinable. There is no hiding under the lights of that interview. As a judge you immediately eliminate thirty-six people, just from those first sixty seconds. Twelve minutes is really long if you’ve eliminated someone in the first minute.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Four-time Miss <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> judge, Frank Deford, author of fifteen books including one about the Miss America Pageant. and an award-winning sports writer, came to understand what set the winner apart. “In the interview room you saw them differently than when they were on stage. If they didn’t have anything to say you knew that within the first minute and half. You could sense it. I was always looking for someone who was smart and engaging and also looked good. I found the Miss Americas I met almost universally to be very attractive people. I remember the expression that was used – she lit up the room. There was just something about her. They seemed to be more in control. They didn’t seem to be as programmed. That was a large part of it. You had the sense that they could go with the flow. They were prepared for anything.” He confessed to a change of heart once he started to participate. “I didn’t expect to like them so much.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bruce Jenner, the former Olympian who was a judge the year Shawntel Smith (1996) won, was impressed with the quality of the women who compete and the power of the Pageant to change lives. His initial skepticism morphed into admiration. “On television, you don’t really get the opportunity to know the girls. But when you are there for a few days and you are with these young women, you get a chance to know them better. I remember how when I watched on television, I would pick my favorite, but the judges would pick another person. I came to see that it’s because the judges know the person better. We see the contestants in different circumstances. When you’re judging, you spend a lot of time with them. But when you watch you wonder why the judges picked her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“My perceptions changed when I got to understand the quality of the women. That’s what I would want my daughter to turn out to be – someone who is intelligent, who has great character, some talent and is motivated in what she is trying to do. I think any parent would be extremely proud of his daughter for going through that process.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Shawntel spoke with Bruce after she won. “ He shared with me why he liked me. What he said meant a lot to me because the interview was the one area where I had been trying to set myself apart. When he saw how down-to-earth and practical I was and that I had a plan to promote my cause of school-to-work after I won the title, he knew I was going to be the next Miss America.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">During the interview process that the public never sees, the true spirit of the individual contestants shines. It is the woman who exhibits confidence, intelligence and the belief that she has what it takes, who makes the judges do a double-take and put the crown on her head. She has that “it” factor.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">Swimsuits and success<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The swimsuit component of the Pageant has long been controversial. The Miss America Organization has kept it as part of the competition for many reasons. The first Pageant in 1921 was held in Atlantic City as a bathing beauty competition to spur local tourism after Labor Day. Now, loaded with tradition, the swimsuit component is expected by viewers. In 1995 the Pageant surveyed the public about whether to drop swimsuit from the competition. Overwhelmingly the public voted to keep it as part of the program. Its entertainment value is not to be underestimated. Other pageants not affiliated with the Miss America system copy the swimsuit component and make it a centerpiece of their contests.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Over the decades its importance in the judging at Miss America has waned. Swimsuit now accounts for the smallest portion of the overall score and isn’t as highly valued as the public might think. Both contestants and judges see it as another way to encourage young women to live active, healthy lifestyles and to be confident in any and all situations. The maintenance of a healthy and fit body is seen as a sign of internal discipline.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Heather Whitestone (1995) sees value in the swimsuit competition, though she didn’t feel that way at first. “In the beginning I was aghast that I had to do swimsuit. I kept telling myself that it was only one minute in the competition. Today I think it’s a good thing because the woman who wins needs to be in good health and strong enough to manage all the travel. If she can’t take care of herself then she is not qualified for that tough job.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The swimsuit competition is a challenge for many of these young women. They have mixed feelings about having to appear confident and poised in not much more than a couple of handkerchiefs and high heels on stage in front of thousands of spectators and millions of television viewers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even though Angie Baraquio (2001) found the prospect of parading in front of thousands in a swimsuit daunting, she knew she had to play by the rules. She even asked her priest about the appropriateness of participation when her mother gave her a hard time about wearing a two-piece swimsuit in such a public arena. He told her that there was no moral issue. “Your mom is very strict,” he said. “Don’t worry – I’ll get your back. I’ve got an in with the guy upstairs.” Along with his support, Angie was able to take that walk with confidence. “I’m an athlete. I know I need to wear the uniform. If I want to play in the game, I need to abide by the rules. I told myself, if I could do that I could do anything.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She also counters the argument that being Miss America and especially the swimsuit competition belittle women. “If you say this is not an empowering thing for women, you’re wrong. You can’t knock it till you’ve tried it. The feminists say, ‘You have to walk around in a swimsuit.’ I said that I did it once, but I would never have to do it again. I just focused on trying to become the best that I could be. I was not starving myself. I was working out everyday, doing tae bo, lifting weights, watching my carbs and doing it the healthy way. I felt so much more confident once I did it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Deidre Downs (2005) understands why the swimsuit component is important. “I had never won a swimsuit preliminary, so I obviously wasn’t a standout in it but I think it has value. Your ability to walk across the stage in a swimsuit for twenty or thirty seconds and look confident and be poised is more important than if there is an inch of whatever on your thighs. The judges see that self-assurance and how you connect with the audience. Maybe you’re scared to death inside to appear like that in front of thousands of people, but you don’t show it on the outside. You go out there and be yourself.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As an athlete, Deidre was comfortable with her body and wearing revealing uniforms. But even she was initially taken aback when she first received the Pageant-sanctioned bikini for the first time. “You were able to choose your color but not the style. About a month before the Pageant it came in the mail in a little zipper baggie. The director of the Miss Alabama program was with me when I opened it. She said, ‘I hope that’s not the whole thing. Is that the bottom or the top?’ I looked at her and said, ‘No. This is the whole thing, right in this little baggie.’ It was a string bikini and definitely more revealing than anything I had worn before. It was pretty controversial during the press interviews and garnered more media attention for the Pageant that year.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The swimsuit competition is not a lightning rod for me even though I would characterize myself as a pretty left-to-center feminist,” continued Deidre. “I was out there pioneering even as a little girl when I played in the boys’ baseball league. I see it as more of the tradition of Miss America. Also, it’s such a small part of the scoring.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our Miss Americas discovered that they could handle anything when they were able to flash a smile, strut their stuff in a swimsuit and high heels and hold their head high. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">First impressions count<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We can’t help categorizing people by what we learn about them at a first meeting. All of us make flash judgments. We decide at first glance who is dangerous and who is not, who to like or who to dislike, often with no conscious thought.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like it or not, your appearance can affect your future. By appearance, I don’t mean the face and figure that you were born with, but what you do with them. Someone once said that you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Anyone can change her appearance through the use of subtle make-up, a great haircut and good lighting. You can manage your body with regular exercise, healthy nutritional habits and clothing appropriate for your shape and size. Small differences in your physical appearance can create big difference in people’s perception of you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kylene Barker (1979) feels that to be a winner in anything, grooming is extremely important. “I believe in first impressions. First impressions stick with people. My grandmother even at eighty-nine gets up every morning, puts on her make-up, has every hair in place, gets dressed and always looks beautiful.” Kylene continued, “Beauty is first a positive attitude that you translate into make-up, clothing and fitness. We’re living in a society today where too many people don’t do anything to fix themselves up and don’t take care of themselves. I believe in exercising and eating right. Taking care of yourself and fitting it into your life has to become a priority. Being your most attractive is what helps people be successful. If you feel pretty you give off pretty vibes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“People don’t understand what the Pageant does,” said Tawny Godin (1976). “You take a young woman who wants scholarship money. Perhaps she’s never felt that she was the prettiest or the best at anything. But once you enter the Pageant and you know that you are going to hit the stage, something happens to you. You know that you’ve got to be the best you can be. Sometimes it’s more than you thought you were capable of.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You find out that you can be a better pianist, or you pay more attention to your voice and learn to sing better, or you get interested in current events, or realize that a little bit of exercise makes a big difference. You are constantly raising your expectations and belief in what you can achieve. That’s fantastic! How can that ever be a bad thing? The outcome has to be better than what you started with.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you pay attention to your appearance, then people pay attention to you. Dress for self-respect. When you look great you promote your own self-worth. It’s also a sign of respect to others. If you want to be perceived as professional, dress professionally. If you want to be thought of as an artist, dress in a more creative way. If you want to be looked at as a rebel, then don a rebel’s clothes. Every cultural icon has a uniform. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">The secret of perpetual curiosity<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">People who are curious about the world are more interesting to others. Sit beside someone who at first glance looks bland and engage them in a stimulating and lively conversation. Later you will wonder why you thought they weren’t attractive. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Donna Axum (1964) said, “Those who have shallow interests or no interests at all other than how to preserve the skin that’s hanging on their skeleton or the next shade of lipstick are self-absorbed. Women who are interested in the world become more interesting to be around.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Pageant recognizes this truism by weighting the off-camera interview so heavily. Contestants know that they have to be well versed on many topics and clear about their positions on a variety issues. To prepare they read newspapers, study what is happening in the world and educate themselves about important historical events. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Everyone who ever achieved greatness was a lifelong learner. They never assumed they know it all. The people you associate with and the books you read will be the key activities that will change you the most. Spend your time with smart people and you will become smarter. Associate with people who are doing what you want to do and you will learn how to do it too. Hang out with big thinkers and you will begin to think big. Connect with creative types and you will learn to tap into your own creative juices. Besides you’ll never know how useful something you learn today might be tomorrow. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mary Ann Mobley (1959) said, “The day has been successful if I have learned a bit more about the world, other people and myself. I want to learn something new every day until the day I die. I see big challenges as opportunities for learning. I don’t think about age. I feel like I can’t wait to see what will happen next.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To perfect her craft, Lee Meriwether (1955) never stops studying. While she was in rehearsal for a show, a group of school children came to visit the theater. Her advice to aspiring actors in the group was simple. “Stick with it, study and never stop reading.” One little girl asked Lee if she still studied. Her reply was heartfelt. “Every day,” she said. “I read about the theater. I read autobiographies. I study people. I’m studying you right now. I’m watching how you are acting and reacting to me. Who knows, I may have to play a little girl or a woman who thinks she’s a little girl.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Donna Axum (1964) believes in the importance of perpetual curiosity for herself as well as others. “I like to read, particularly biographies and historical novels. I’ve always had a desire to experience different cultures. I have an inquisitive mind. That is an important element of success as well.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you have not focused on self-improvement as a regular part of your routine, you may want to consider starting with those ideas and actions that will have an immediate impact on improving your life. Understanding more about finances, interpersonal skills or technology could improve your debt picture, your relationships and your employment prospects.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Being a lifelong learner has greater benefits than broadening your horizons. Learning something new feeds your mind and spirit. Doing so makes happy new brain cells and will keep you younger longer. Research has shown that when you learn new skills, your brain builds new neural pathways. We spend way too much time feeding every part of our being but our intellect. We often stuff our thoughts with hours of channel surfing, our faces with food and dull our senses with drugs and alcohol. You can nourish your mind by learning to play a musical instrument, speak another language or cultivate your garden.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Why not put down the remote and use the time you spend flipping channels on yourself? The library and internet are great resources for accessing all kinds of information. Find a listing of free lectures in your area. Join a club focused on something that interests you. Go back to school to finish your education or get an advanced degree. It’s never too late. In time you will be amazed at the confidence you’ve gained alongside new-found wisdom and skills. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Being perpetually curious will help when you don’t know the answers. If you are curious you will be able to identify the resources you need and where to find the answers to your questions. Be patient with yourself. Learning takes an investment of time and energy that will pay you huge dividends. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: &quot;Monotype Corsiva&quot;;">Cultivate your character</span><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you want to attract people to you be kind, be genuine, be honorable. When you make people feel that they are important in your eyes and you show them respect, they will stand a little taller in your presence and remember you. Being nice doesn’t mean that you let people walk all over you. When you show sincere interest in who they are, listen carefully to what they have to say, you have paid them the highest compliment. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">General Colin Powell had a powerful impact on Heather French (2000). Since her platform was veterans' issues, she and General Powell were together a number of times at veterans’ events. He told her about a Maya Angelou quote that she took very much to heart: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Heather was inspired by Powell's words. "When you give people that attention as Miss <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, it makes them feel special. It doesn’t matter whether someone is two years old or in a wheelchair, every person deserves the best of who you are.” </p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">The responsibility Heather felt as a representative of all the Miss Americas that had come before her and all who would come after extended to everyone with whom she came in contact. “You realize that you can have such a profound influence on someone else’s life. You remind yourself, ‘Don’t screw up.’” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jennifer Berry (2006) saw how powerful being nice could be. “As Miss America I found that by being nice to people I was changing the perception that we’re just pretty girls. Even better was when they would tell me that I was fun and smart and real. Creating the environment as Miss America so that when I walked out of a room people had a different perception of me was really cool. The way you present yourself – first impressions – is vitally important. The word beautiful is in the job description for Miss America. It implies so much more than physical beauty.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our Miss Americas cultivate their characters and attempt to live lives worth emulating. Integrity and sincerity, intangible though they may be, are visible. Those women who become more beautiful with age exhibit such character traits in abundance. Integrity is evident in their interactions with others. What could be more appealing than someone who does what she says she will do, who takes responsibility for her actions and shows sincere interest in others?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rebecca King (1974) said, “You have to have a strong moral compass. It keeps you focused. It helps you determine who you are and where you are going. You have to have that sense of integrity and character to carry you through confusing times. It’s basic. You have to do what you say you’re going to do. In business it can come down to a handshake. If I have an agreement with another attorney over the phone, it’s done. People count on you. If you’re not as good as your word, what good are you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We make emotional connections to people who exemplify high ideals. When we are with them, we feel the power of their focus and attention. They exude a genuine self-confidence. Just being in their presence makes us feel uplifted and special. That is how they capture our hearts and minds. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Susan Powell (1981) recognizes that inner beauty in others when she speaks of Jean Bartel, Miss <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> 1943, who successfully convinced the Miss America Organization to start awarding scholarships in 1945. “She was Miss America at a time when the Pageant was huge – queen of the universe. I just love Jean. I find how she is aging really fascinating. She’s gorgeous. She speaks her mind in a forthright but gentle way. She makes me feel important every time I’m with her. I don’t know how she does it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When you make people feel better about themselves, they will feel better about you. We are drawn to people who enhance our own sense of self. Our Miss Americas know this. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I witnessed their interactions with others, I found them to be uniformly gracious, warm and patient. A little girl came up to Heather French (2000) and Heather got down to the child’s level to talk to her. For that moment, there was no one else in the room. Mary Ann Mobley (1959) took the time to ask a waiter about his family at a restaurant she frequents and write a thank you note to an airline employee who had helped her. Jennifer Berry (2006) and Shawntel Smith (1996) were welcoming to people who recognized them on the street. They all will pose for endless photographs with fans and listen to what someone has to say with patience and grace. These are the qualities that all great leaders and successful people have. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And when they see someone in distress, they feel compelled to reach out. Phyllis George (1971) has been deeply touched by the effect she has had on other people’s lives. “We need to let people know that they’re special. Sometimes you can say something to someone and not know the effect it has on them.” She told me a story about a lunch she had with her friend, Sue Ann, one snowy day in Lexington, Kentucky. “Behind me were two women, one of whom was crying and couldn’t stop. The other one was consoling her. As these two women were leaving, they walked by our table. I placed my hand on the arm of the one who had been crying and said, ‘Whatever it is that you are upset about, it will get better. It will, so please don’t think of the negative. Please think of the positive. I’ve been there. I’ve had those times. Just promise me that you’ll try.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Not too long after, her friend walked into a shop and saw Sue Ann. She asked Sue Ann to tell me that the woman who had been crying that day at Southern’s was planning to commit suicide. Her son had moved across the country and gotten into drugs. She blamed herself. She was recently divorced and was going to take drugs that very day. Because I had touched her and told her to not think about the negative things, but to think about the positive things in her life, she walked out the door and said, ‘If Phyllis George can do that, I can do that too.’ And she survived.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Phyllis, like so many of her Miss America sisters, believes that there is a responsibility that comes with the crown. “If we can reach out to people, we should. We’ve been blessed with this amazing honor of being a Miss America. By showing that I cared, I saved a life that day and didn’t even know it.” By turning on the power of nice we tap into the very best that we can be. When we lift ourselves, we lift others.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When Phyllis won the Miss America Pageant in 1971, the women’s movement was in full flower. At that time feminists were vocal about their feelings that the Pageant was demeaning to women and would stage a protest at events when a Miss America was present. Phyllis tells of a time when she did an appearance at an automobile showroom in Dekalb, Illinois. Several women came to picket. “Here I am, a small town girl from Denton, Texas, at the highest moment of my life having won Miss America. It was a freezing cold day and they are outside picketing me. So I went outside and asked them to come in out of the cold. I asked them what their issue was. They believed that I was being exploited, but I said, ‘This program gave me opportunities to get a scholarship and have a springboard. I got to play the piano in front of millions of people and now travel all over the country. What’s wrong with that?’ They said, ‘You wore a swimsuit.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Then I said, ‘You’re doing what you’re doing because it is important to you. This is the way you want to approach life. Well, this is the way this small town girl from Denton, Texas is doing it. I got a lot of scholarship money. I’m meeting a lot of important people that maybe can help me with my career. I don’t feel like I’m being exploited. If I did, I wouldn’t be here.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“They said that I wasn’t like the others. I tried to help them see that my Miss America sisters feel the same about the benefits of participating. I asked them to please respect the direction I’d chosen for my life.” Phyllis may not have altered the stereotypes held by other feminists, but that group gained a whole different perspective on what the Pageant was really about.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Donna Axum (1964) knows that her celebrity does not set her apart or put her on a higher level than others. “Humility is an important characteristic of being Miss America. You have to be able to relate to people in all walks of life across the country, have compassion for their status or the problems that they are dealing with. If you don’t have a degree of humility about you they won’t open up to you. Humility, though obvious to others, is invisible to those who possess it.” Now that’s beautiful.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We aren’t born blank slates. Each of us comes into this world with certain personality characteristics and capabilities. I’m not advocating you be someone so outside of who you are that you don’t recognize yourself. What I am advocating is that you take a look at yourself and decide whether you are pursuing your potential. Each of us has a range of achievement within which we function. When you actualize your highest self you are at your most beautiful. Then you are beautiful from the inside out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <div style="border-style: none none double; border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color windowtext; border-width: medium medium 6.75pt; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none ; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">To purchase go to: </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pretty-Smart-Lessons-Miss-Americas/dp/143893761X/">http://www.amazon.com/Pretty-Smart-Lessons-Miss-Americas/dp/143893761X/<br /></a></p><p></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-76898260295333740042009-08-23T20:09:00.002-04:002009-08-23T20:17:26.204-04:00Chapter 1 - The Baby in the Bag<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SpHaPsRpI9I/AAAAAAAAEFs/ZGOIf6Sur-4/s1600-h/baby+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 338px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SpHaPsRpI9I/AAAAAAAAEFs/ZGOIf6Sur-4/s400/baby+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373315793547764690" border="0" /></a>
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mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Courier New&quot;;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-family: &quot;Courier New&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Chapter 1<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">I was really nervous while I waited in the Green Room, back stage on the “Tonight Show”. This was my first time on television and I was invited to appear because I’d written a short novel about surfing that was then made into a movie. I remember watching the wall-mounted monitor as Jay’s first guest, the handsome movie star Rock Studstones, looking larger than life, appeared to promote his latest block buster action movie.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"> Jay made the introduction. ”Please welcome a good friend of the Tonight Show, Rock Studstones!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The curtain parted and Rock peacocked out, giving that little pistol finger point over to Kevin, the band leader.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Rock looked super cool in his tailored black blazer, designer blue jeans and white skin tight shirt, his highlighted pecks appearing as if they were made of hard plastic, which they probably were.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">As the audience screamed its approval Rock strutted over to Jay, looking like the big dog in the proverbial junkyard. They shook hands and gave each other a friendly hug, like old friends do. And I had to follow that!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Jay continued, “Rock, it’s always good to see you. How are you, my friend?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I’m fantastik Jay,” Rock replied, in his Austrian accent.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“You look great. I see you’ve been working out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ya, you know, I do vat I can to look good for da ladies.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Speaking of ladies, how’s your girlfriend, Chi Chi Gigante?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Jay, you kan’t believe everyding you read in da tabloids. We are nodding but best friends, you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Best friends with benefits!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The audience chuckled, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Rock smiled his electric silky-smooth used car salesman way. You know the kind that seems three quarters genuine and one quarter deceitful. Man, was he cool.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“So Rock, tell me about your new movie. I love the title, ‘Everyone Dies’”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ya Jay, it’s an action movie. The main character, me, is a mild manner account, Jack Numbers. He stumbles across a money laundering scheme and discovers you know, dat da money is koing to a group of midget terrorists who vant to destroy da world.”<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Dwarfs want to destroy the world? Sounds like a really short story!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">That Jay, he really cracked me up with that one.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Why do they want to do that?” Jay continued.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Day are angry because all da fast food chains super size everyding. Da leader of da midgets, Jumbo Shrimp, had a terrible incident vid a super-sized meal. He fell into da drink cup and almost drowned.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Oh waiter, what’s that dwarf doing in my drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“The back stroke!” the audience yelled back, da dum.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“So, you take on the dwarf terrorists?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ya, da’s vight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I watched a preview earlier and I really enjoyed it. But there seems to be a lot of gratuitous violence.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“True. I vouldn’t recommend taking da kiddies. Vait for da video game.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Who else stars in it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Jay, we have a great kast. The beautiful Martha Pumphandle plays my love interest and da African-Mexican actor, Pacito Jones plays Jumbo Shrimp.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Alright, well, let’s take a look at a clip. Do you need to set this scene up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ya Jay, in dis scene I’m in da terrorists’ secret underground hideout. I’ve been captured and tied to a conveyor belt dat’s slowly winding toward a buzz saw, you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Sounds like the Lilliputians have an axe to grind. Let’s take a look,” Jay said, swiveling his chair to see the flat screen behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The monitor cuts to the clip. I watched the scene. And like Rock said, he’s tied to a slow moving belt headed toward a spinning screaming buzz saw. I couldn’t see the dwarf terrorists. All I could see were the tops of their heads, little hands and arms flailing from behind that belt, looking like a wheat field waving behind a fence.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Well, Jack Numbers, seems as if you’ve met your match,” Jumbo Shrimp said, even though I couldn’t see him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ha! It vill take more dan you to best me. I vill never let you destroy da world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Soon you’ll be cut down to size, Jack Numbers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I do not dink so. You vill always be half da man I am.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">I watched as Rock wiggled his hand free and using his diamond studded Rolex sliced away his ropes, sprang off the belt, somersaulting as he did, wrestled free a machine gun from one of the small guards and began spraying bullets all around. The dwarf terrorists scampered away to hide behind scattered boxes and in the darkened corners, like cockroaches suddenly caught in the light. All the while Rock was screaming, “Hasta luego, you vittle terrorists.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><span style=""> </span>Afterward, the audience exploded with cheers and applause.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Mr. Attola? You’re on after the next commercial break,” one of Jay’s interns then informed me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">I looked up to the monitor just in time to hear Jay say, “We’ll be right back with the author Parc Attola after this commercial break.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">So, I followed the intern to the back of the stage and waited. I could feel the sweat begin to gather under my arm pits, like dew hanging from a tree. I was glad I wore a tee shirt.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Okay, Mr. Attola, once we come back, Jay’ll introduce you. After he does, walk on out, over to Jay and take the seat next to his desk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Finally, we’re back on air.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“You may not know my next guest, but he wrote the novel ‘Bigger than Big Wednesday’ that’s just been made into a movie and it’s getting rave reviews. Please welcome Parc Attola!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">That was my queue. I swallowed hard, feeling my neck muscles push down the little saliva I had like a snake choking down a rat, and walked out into the bright lights. I couldn’t see the audience. All I saw was a black abyss. Yet, I could feel hundreds of eyes scanning over me. I wanted to be cool too, so I gave Kevin that same pistol finger point. Kevin looked at me like I’d just peed in his corn flakes. It wasn’t a good start.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">I walked over to Jay and we shook hands. His was cool and dry. Mine was wet and clammy. As I walked around his desk and sat down, I noticed Jay wiping his hand on his pants. Rock was sitting next to me. So, I shook hands with Rock and said, “Midget terrorists, man that’s too funny.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Rock merely nodded his head in that you’re a loser kind of way.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Parc, welcome to the Tonight Show.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Thanks Jay,” I said, as polite clapping dribbled from the audience.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>“I’ve read your book,” Jay continued. ”I thought it was very exciting and emotional. Are you a surfer?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Yeah, but I’m not very good. Not much surf in Florida.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Accept during the hurricanes!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">More laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“So, how does it feel to see your book on the big screen?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Well Jay,” I began, crossing my legs and noticing the lint on my dark socks, “it’s not exactly the same story. After I sold the rights, the producers told me that there needed to be some changes, to appeal to a wider audience.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Oh really? What changes did they make?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Well, for one thing, there’re no Killer Whales off the Florida coast. Also, in my novel, the main character doesn’t drive a Ferrari.” I continued, uncrossing my legs and sitting back. ”He’s a sixteen-year-old kid, abandoned by his father as his mother struggles to make a living and raise him to be a man. And he definitely doesn’t hang out with Laird Hamilton. But, the producers thought the movie needed a big name surfer in it. They even have the kid involved with the pop star, Britney Spirits.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“How’d that make you feel when you heard about that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Like a virgin in a prison shower with a new bar of soap!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The audience actually laughed at that one as Jay tee-heed like he sometimes does when he hears a sexual innuendo. Things were looking up.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“What a crazy world,” Jay commented.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Yes it is, with the war and everything,” I replied, trying to make small talk, as old friends do.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Speaking of the war, what do you think is the number one problem facing this country?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Well Jay, it may not be as important to everyone as, say, the war, but I’d like to see universal health care.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The audience clapped approvingly. So, I continued, encouraged.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I mean, I can’t understand how the richest country in the world can’t provide decent health care for its citizens. People can’t afford prescription drugs any more. They now have to go to Canada or Wal-Mart to buy them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Kevin, you know something about drugs and Canada.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The audience snickered as Kevin smiled at Jay.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Parc, do you smoke pot?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I’ll take the fifth on that one. By the way, Kevin, is it 4:20 yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Now the audience began to whoop and holler, cheer and clap. Things were going great. I was funny and the audience seemed to like me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“What would you do about the war?” Jay continued.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I don’t know Jay. I’m not a movie star.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Oops! Well, that did it. I never should’ve mentioned the war or dissed the Hollywood elite. That’s when I’d inadvertently stepped over that line into the thick sand of politically incorrect free speech. This is where my story actually begins.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">After my slight of the beautiful people, Jay, I guess, wanted to stir things up. He turned to Rock and said, “Rock, haven’t you come out against the war?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Da, I have,” Rock answered, his square chin jutting forward from beneath his mouth, looking like Mount Rushmore. ”Da Bush administration has done noding but lie to da American people. Da President stole da election and his fascist regime has driven dis country down da vong path, you know. I know for a fact dat dis President planned 911 to get us into da vor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Now, I try to stay out of politics as much as I can. In my opinion, all politicians really want is to attain and maintain power, kind of like organized religion. I’m convinced that they really don’t care about anything else. But, I couldn’t let this go.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Rock,” I turned and said, “didn’t you say that if the President was elected, you’d move out of the country? Yet, here you are. What’s with that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The audience became silent. It felt like I’d farted during a church sermon. Jay sat there looking like the cat that’d swallowed the canary.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I vas speaking metaphorically, you know. I can do more to fight dis vicked administration vight here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Get out. You’re just like that other actor who raged about getting out the vote. And he wasn’t even registered. What a bunch of hypocrites.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Oops again! But, that did actually feel good to say.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Now Parc,” Jay said, trying to regain a modicum of control.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">But I couldn’t stop. I felt the situation going down hill and like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver I struggled to regain the audiences’ approval.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“What kind of name is Rock Studstones anyway? Sounds like you’ve got pebbles for stones.” Hey, I thought it was funny. Nobody else did as the silence from the audience grew steadily louder.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ha dare you!” Rock responded, his ears turning red.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Yes I do, you pussy.” I really had no idea where that came from.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Vat did you call me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“A pussy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Vi I ought to.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Stand up Nancy and I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass, you’ll be tasting my toe jam for a week!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">They cut to a commercial after that and my time on the “Tonight Show” ended. Jay called for security. Rock gave me the finger, even after I’d asked him for his autograph, and I already had the twenty dollars he charges right in my sweaty hand. They wouldn’t even let me stick around and listen to the musical guest, the Pewbs. The only person who said anything nice to me was Kevin, and all he said was “Goodbye”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Calibri&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
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div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Courier New&quot;;">“The Baby in the Bag, A Politically Incorrect Tale”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Courier New&quot;;">By Doug Hanau<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family: &quot;Courier New&quot;;">Website: <a href="http://authorsden.com/doughanau">authorsden.com/doughanau</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br />Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-58357100233858526192009-08-18T05:27:00.001-04:002009-08-18T05:27:00.413-04:00Chapter 1 - Cafe Tempest: Adventures on a Small Greek Island by Barbara Bonfigli<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wf56H2fiVxY&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wf56H2fiVxY&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Welcome to Pharos. Laugh and dance in the hammock—not the cradle—of Western civilization,” says author, lyricist, and theatrical producer Barbara Bonfigli. “I’ve been falling in love with Greece since I was old enough to drink retsina. But if Sarah hadn’t captured my imagination you’d never know how I feel about friendship, feta, and the abundance of grace that turns friends into lovers and fishermen into kings.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><b><u><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Synopsis</span></u></b><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >When Sarah, a thirty-something American theatrical producer, is asked to direct the locals in their summer show, she picks Shakespeare’s play <i>The Tempest</i>. What follows is a hilarious adventure in casting, rehearsing, and consuming. Her neighbors are excited about acting but delirious about eating. Their rehearsals in a deconsecrated church become a feast in four acts.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Armed with a sizzling wit, a dangerously limited Greek vocabulary, and a pitch-perfect ear for drama, Sarah navigates the major egos and minor storms of a cab driver Caliban, a postmaster Prospero, and a host of fishermen dukes and knaves.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >When she falls in love, there are even trickier seas to navigate. Her own offstage romance provides an exhilarating, unpredictable counterpoint to Shakespeare’s story of magic, intrigue, and the power of love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:16;" >Chapter 1 </span></b><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >No one else’s behavior makes any sense.</span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>That’s it! The end of a continuous struggle for meaning since the third grade. That’s when I took a long look at the Brownie pledge. “On my honor I will try . . .” noble and uplifting; “. . . to God and country . . .” I feel like saluting. But then the ending . . . “especially those at home.” Sappy and rambling. I sent off my rewrite to National Headquarters and told them they could use it <i>gratis</i>—a word I may have misspelled. No reply yet, but you can’t expect an organization that sounds like chocolate cake to make snap decisions.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >The site of this revelation is the charter terminal at Heathrow, where we’re spending the morning en route to Athens. Icarus Air warns you there’s a price to pay for flying on a shoestring. “Be there three hours before takeoff,” they command. <i>Three hours!</i> Whatever happened to “catching a plane? (I have a little problem with time, which I blame on skipping first grade. “She can already read,” they told my parents. They forgot to mention that first grade is where you learn to tell time, and maybe even understand it.) Nor am I thrilled to be flying with a company named for the only air disaster in Greek mythology. Icarus was the fearless god who flew so close to the sun his wax wings melted. I’m not afraid of flying either. Landing, maybe. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >I look over the check-in choices and pick Anthony, sympathetic and snappy looking in a uniform that blends nicely with the ticket counter and carpet. With my French roast and Viennese beans, my pepper mill, yoga mat, and summer reading, I’m probably way overweight. As I get closer to Anthony, I do some tai chi balance shifts and practice sending waves of love in his direction. I also run my fingers through my unruly curls and drag a few over one eye in an attempt to look more vulnerable. And I pocket my sunglasses so my grandmother’s startling blue eyes can destabilize him. Meanwhile my lower mind takes in the drama unfolding between him and the slim-limbed miniskirted French bombshell in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“May I see your visa for Greece, madam?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“See my <i>what</i>!?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Anthony blushes and clears his throat. “Do you have a visa for Greece?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Ah . . . <i>Oui.</i>” She nods her blond sheaves vigorously. “I ’ave one <i>partout</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >He smiles a weary, lost-empire smile. “You have a <i>passport</i> for everywhere. A visa is something else.”<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“</span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Something else?” She turns to me bewildered. “<i>Comment?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Autre chose,”</span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" > rises from the ruins of my eighth-grade French.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“<i>Pourquoi</i> something <i>autre</i>?” She turns back to him, impatiently clicking her fingernails in time with her stiletto heels. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >He reflects, scribbles something, and announces: “I think your French driver’s license will be acceptable.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Yes! Anthony’s my guy. What’s a little overweight compared to illegal entry?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Accept a table?” she turns again and practically shouts at me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“<i>Acceptable?”</i> I try, though I know French cognates are the undergraduate’s Waterloo.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“You are American, no?” she demands. Rude, and crushing. Lots of people think my accent is Parisian. Admittedly they all live in San Francisco. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“I just want to help you,” I say in a soft tone I reserve for crazy people.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“So do I,” Anthony chimes in, picking up my technique of short simple sentences.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“<i>I</i> just want to check in!” says Alex, right behind me. She turns her wheely bag around.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Where are you going?” I ask in perfect English.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“To a line of my own.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Alex (<i>Alexandra</i>, if she thinks you’re not taking her seriously) decided to come along at the last minute. But it was Julian’s idea that I take this unscheduled vacation. Julian is my partner in a West End theater company. Our affair ended the same week our play closed. I knew the play had a limited run, so that wasn’t a surprise. As for the Sarah and Julian show, I ignored the critics and willfully overlooked the dwindling returns. Which brings me to the painful conclusion that I’m better at acting than at casting.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Julian thinks it’s a happy coincidence; we can take a break from each other without hurting the business. I think it’s karma, and karma is a rolling stone; better to roll with it than stand in its path. So I’ve been planning a few weeks of uncluttered renewal on a remote Greek island. <i>Uncluttered</i> as in empty beach, cloudless skies, time alone to meditate, work on a novel, and finish an overdue magazine article. <i>Renewal</i> as in retsina. Plus I thought I’d made it clear to my friends that Pharos doesn’t rhyme with Mykonos, Jackie O never slept there, and the nearest mojito is a five-day sail. No burgers, no discos, and as for getting a torn nail repaired, claws would grow first. Whereas the incomparable charms of Pharos I’ve been keeping to myself. So I’m not sure what’s inspired Alex to come. Could it be she’s more tuned in to the state of my heart than I am? Asking would only introduce logic into our relationship—a cheap tactic I abandoned long ago. Is there any chance she’ll last the month? No way, say our friends, who’ve never agreed on anything before. I suspect they’re placing bets; I just wish there were some way to get into the pool. Thanks to Icarus Air, she now has time to plunder in Duty Free. I find her swinging a full basket.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Why are you buying all this stuff you don’t need and so cleverly didn’t pack?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“C’mon, Sarah. I thought this was a vacation?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“It is.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Fine. See you.” She slides away.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“And raise you . . .” She doesn’t hear. It isn’t the first time I’ve talked to a wall. But it <i>is</i> the first time the wall replied: <i>GIVE UP trying to understand other people.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>(It’s an odd thing about revelations. I’ve meditated at the best places: Ashram in India, hot tub at Esalen, beside the lake in Pokara . . . and I can’t recall the great Aha! hitting me at any of them. Here I am at Terminal 4. Why go anywhere?)<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Alex reappears, an outbreak of plastic bags blooming on her carry-on.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Did he say Gate Fourteen?” she says, chewing on a giant duty free Toblerone bar. “I think they’re calling our flight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“I wish I knew,” I say, breaking a piece off the end.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>Heathrow’s the summer school for places that teach English as a second language; articles are optional and, interestingly, there’s no future tense. Plus its PA system is a holdover from the Blitz. So the odds of making your plane are roughly the same as colliding with a neutrino. We find another carpet-coordinated employee who says “Leaving! Porto 14 !” Alex races me to the gate, where we stand panting in a line that takes forever to board.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>#<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >We’re flying in Europe, a continent of smokers who’ve recently been banned from lighting up on planes. Everyone around us has the DTs; they’re desperately uploading caffeine and wishing they could just step out on the wing for a puff. The guy on our aisle is shaking his foot and studying the Icarus Air evacuation cartoon . . . In my opinion they should let people light up and drink from takeoff to landing. All this pent-up fear and deprivation would certainly mess up an orderly ditching at sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Give up trying to understand other people,</span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" > I remind myself. Why, I wonder, has this revelation taken so long?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >At thirty-nine thousand feet I look around at my fellow man with a new lightness, the enormous burden of comprehension abandoned at Duty Free. They’re all digging into a mysterious seafood starter. Icarus is an airline that serves food for revenge. Fortunately I have the picnic skills to meet this challenge.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Alex, let’s have our banquet before the headwinds hit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >I detect a little hostility from the guy on the aisle, sawing uselessly on his seeded roll as Alex lays out our smoked salmon, pumpernickel, Brie, and Chablis. Unless it’s an involuntary reaction to the cheese, with it’s whiff of socks left out in the rain.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Would you like some smoked salmon?” she asks him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Signome?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“No. Salmon,” says Alex, squeezing the lemon.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Alex, <i>signome</i> is Greek for ‘excuse me.’ ”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Oh.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Thelete ligo</span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >—would you like some . . . ?” I try. But the word for salmon escapes me. I point at it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >She looks back. “Pointing is Greek?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Oxi, efharisto.” </span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >No, thanks. <i>“Eime hortophagos.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“He’s a vegetarian,” I explain to Alex. “And the Brie is ripe enough to moo, so let’s skip that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“We ought to offer him something,” she says, displaying her notorious generosity. <span style=""> </span>“He can have my entire Icarus lunch.” I say in an attempt to imitate her—though you could hardly call this a test. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“<i>Oxi, efharisto</i>—no thanks,” he smiles discerningly. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >I pour him a cup of Chablis.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >When dessert comes around it’s Turkish delight, in celebration of the three-thousand-year blood feud between Greeks and Turks.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“God, that looks terrible,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Not as terrible as it tastes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >She brings out our crème brûlée. During which I share my revelation, inspiration deleted.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“You mean to say you’ve been trying to understand <i>everyone</i>?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“Well, not Charles Manson or the Spice Girls . . . but as a rule, yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“What a wild idea.” Alex puts down her spoon. “How’s it turning out?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“I’ve just given it up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >She raises her cup of Chablis. “How do you say ‘bravo’ in Greek?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >“I think it <i>is</i> Greek.” And we click.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>A few hours later we cross the Corinth channel and drop into the haze of Athens. The landing gear bangs into place. Moments later a stewardess comes over the speaker. “We’ll be coming through the isles to collect unwanted items. Please fasten your cups and throw away your seat belts.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" >Sometimes I wish I could follow directions.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">To learn about Barbara Bonfigli and Café Tempest, feel free to visit any of these sites. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Order Café Tempest directly from the publisher - <a href="http://www.tellmepress.com/pub_ct.php"><span style="">http://www.tellmepress.com/pub_ct.php</span></a> or from Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Caf%C3%A9-Tempest-Adventures-Small-Island/dp/0981645313"><span style="">http://www.amazon.com/Café-Tempest-Adventures-Small-Island/dp/0981645313</span></a> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >To see the complete tour schedule visit <a href="http://virtualblogtour.blogspot.com/2009/05/cafe-tempest-by-barbara-bonfigli-summer.html"><span style="">http://virtualblogtour.blogspot.com/2009/05/cafe-tempest-by-barbara-bonfigli-summer.html</span></a> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Barbara Bonfigli’s website – <a href="http://www.cafetempest.com/"><span style="">www.cafetempest.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-77185620344896139222009-05-02T18:59:00.003-04:002010-02-02T16:07:40.885-05:00Last Man on Earth by Ashley Ladd<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <h1>Last Man on Earth</h1> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"> <hr align="center" size="2" width="100%"> </div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">by <em><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?s=yeXuv7690544&amp;A_ID=2">Ashley Ladd</a></em></span> <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_i1026" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="Last Man on Earth" style="'width:24pt;height:24pt'"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\SHRIHE~1\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.wmz" href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/uploads/images_products_large/411.jpg"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">published by Total-E-Bound at <a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/">http://www.total-e-bound.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.ashleyladd.com/">http://www.ashleyladd.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com/">http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=yeXuv7690544&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411">http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=yeXuv7690544&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411</a><o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p> <p class="TEBChapter" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="font-family: georgia;">After Earth blows up, Astronauts Colonel Genie Siska and Major David Randolph are kidnapped by aliens.</i><br /></span><p style="font-family:georgia;"> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Astronaut Major David Randolph is the last human male alive after Earth blows up. Colonel Genie Siska and David witness Earth's explosion from their space ship. In shock and despair, the couple run through a myriad of emotions. Although Genie's always been highly attracted to the major, he's also fourteen years younger than her. Even though he's literally the last man left alive, she still doesn't know if she can take a man so much younger than her as her lover.<br /><br />David's always been in love with his commanding officer, and he's frustrated that even now, she resists him. They are literally mankind's last chance for survival. Or are they? When they are "rescued" or is it kidnapped by aliens, the whole picture changes. However, they are not sure if it's for better or worse.</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p> <table class="MsoNormalTable" border="0" cellpadding="0" style="font-family:georgia;"> <tbody><tr style=""> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>Excerpt from: Last Man on Earth</b></span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">USAF Colonel Genie Siska gaped at the blinding lights pinpointing the Earth. In shock, she wasn’t sure if she was speaking aloud or thinking, “My dear God. What’ve they done? How could they?” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">“God save our souls,” Major David Randolph whispered beside her. His shoulder crowded hers and his hip bumped her as he ran back to his station. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">The com channels were frantic with chatter. Maydays arose in every language. Reports of massive death and destruction filled Genie’s ears as she stared in disbelief from the command link to the planet below. Her fingers dug into the ledge in front of her, and she feared she’d sink to the ground if she let go. “How can they do this?” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">She prayed to God for forgiveness and deliverance. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">“Don’t just stand there, Colonel!” David grabbed her and dragged her into their escape ship. “We’ve got to get out of here now. If the planet explodes, it’ll blast apart the station.” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Earth explode? <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">She gulped. Her heart shattered as she envisioned the fiery deaths of all the children of Earth. The babies. The animals. All innocents. None deserving of the fate their elders decreed. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Mutely, swallowing hard, hoping David’s words weren’t prophetic, she forced herself to focus. But she couldn’t wrap her mind around the possible reality. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">She helped David steer the ship out into space far enough for safety but close enough to see their home. When he put his arm around her, she didn’t demur. Rather, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort from his steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest. “Why is this happening?” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">He squeezed her shoulder and huskily murmured, “Who really knows? Greed? Selfishness? Stupidity? Religious fanaticism?” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">A sad snort arose from her lips, and she struggled to hold back tears and not damn all the religious nuts to hell. For heaven’s sake, USAF Colonels didn’t cry. In particular, female officers couldn’t show such weakness or her troops lose respect. She’d rather be a tough bitch. But against orders, tears clung to her lashes, and she tried to blink them back. “So we blew ourselves up in the name of God?” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">He pressed his lips to her temple. “Quite possibly. We’ll never know.” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">He sounded so much more mature than his mere twenty-eight years, and she burrowed into his strength. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">The ship rocked with shock waves, and she gasped. Blinding light and meteors hurled at them. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">“Damn! The idiots really did it,” David seethed and gathered her closer and held her tightly as if he craved the human contact. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Anxious for affirmation she wasn’t alone in the big, cold universe, she clutched him. Tears dropped unchecked from her eyes and sobs racked her throat. Although she’d never married nor had children, her heart ached for her nephew and her sister, for all the lost souls, for lost dreams, for the terror and pain everyone must have felt. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Furious at the sons of bitches who’d turned the doomsday switches, she flung back her head and howled her rage, and she pummelled her fists against David’s chest. “We’re dead! This is the end of the human race. How could we?” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">A million visions collided in her mind, changing with such lightning speed she grew dizzy and crumpled to the floor. Gasping for air, her sobs came on hiccoughs. Irony in her voice, she mused, “I never thought it fair to marry or have kids as I thought my mission too dangerous, that I’d be the one to die in this godforsaken space…and now we’re the only ones left.” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">David hunkered down on his haunches and stroked her face. His intensely blue gaze bore into her. Very sombrely and seriously he said, “We weren’t the only satellite orbiting Earth. The Russians and the Chinese are up here, too.” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">“If they didn’t get pulverised.” Acid tears burned her eyes and hovered on her lashes. They burned her eyes much like the explosion burned away Earth’s atmosphere. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Again, David pulled her close and rocked back and forth with her in his arms. “Shush. We’ll make it. We’re resilient.” </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">She peeked out the window at the spookily empty space—empty barring all the dust and debris from their home. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size:100%;">Damn it! It shouldn’t be so beautiful, like sparkling fairy dust.</span></p> </td> </tr> </tbody></table> <h2 style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Book Details</span></h2> <table class="MsoNormalTable" border="0" cellpadding="0" style="font-family:georgia;"> <tbody><tr style=""> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>Erotic Rating</strong></span></p> </td> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Total-e-burning</span></p> </td> </tr> <tr style=""> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>Genre</strong></span></p> </td> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Futuristic</span></p> </td> </tr> <tr style=""> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>Cover art by</strong></span></p> </td> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Lyn Taylor</span></p> </td> </tr> <tr style=""> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>Book Length</strong></span></p> </td> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Short Story</span></p> </td> </tr> <tr style=""> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><strong>ISBN#</strong></span></p> </td> <td style="padding: 0.75pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">978-1-906811-86-0</span></p> </td> </tr> </tbody></table> <form style="font-family: georgia;"> </form> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">published by Total-E-Bound at <a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/">http://www.total-e-bound.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.ashleyladd.com/">http://www.ashleyladd.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com/">http://www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=yeXuv7690544&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411">http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=yeXuv7690544&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411</a><o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p> <p class="TEBChapter" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="TEBChapter" style="text-align: left;font-family:georgia;" align="left"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=xjddov691440&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411">Purchase page</a>: <a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=xjddov691440&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411">http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?s=xjddov691440&amp;strParents=&amp;CAT_ID=&amp;P_ID=411</a></span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-16035736167834080552009-03-29T17:13:00.002-04:002009-03-29T17:23:29.981-04:00Hollywood Bohemians: Transgressive Sexuality and the Selling of the Hollywood Dream By Brett L. Abrams<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/Sc_l5oPTWsI/AAAAAAAAC0E/ZHek5WLJ6Ro/s1600-h/978-0-7864-3929-4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 167px; height: 250px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/Sc_l5oPTWsI/AAAAAAAAC0E/ZHek5WLJ6Ro/s400/978-0-7864-3929-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318722463164750530" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.amazon.com/Hollywood-Bohemians-Transgressive-Sexuality-Movieland/dp/0786439297/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1232743430&amp;sr=1-1"></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Chapter One<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Hollywood Nightlife<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;">Female Impersonators andCross-Dressing Females<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">La Boheme Cafe owner Karyl Norman delighted patrons by dressing up in yards and yards of lace and feathers whenever he performed his incredible female impersonations. His impersonation of Joan Crawford doing a scene as Sadie Thompson brought down the house nightly, occasionally with Crawford enjoying the laughs.</span><span style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Hollywood publicity frequently showed celebrities inside the fancy and fantastic environments of nightclubs and restaurants. The stars ate and drank lavishly, fought and danced wildly, and dated and romanced extravagantly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">However, some Hollywood nightlife images also depicted celebrities hanging out with exotic and decadent </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">fi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">gures or engaging in exotic and decadent behavior themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Hollywood bohemian imagery, such as Norman’s impersonation of Crawford, played a signi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">fi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">cant role in forming the mystique of Hollywood’s nightlife. The image informed readers about Crawford’s nighttime activities and her interaction with others. These two pieces of personal information offered readers the chance to believe that they knew the star more intimately. Presenting a female impersonator provided readers with a glimpse of something they rarely saw and the thrill of experiencing behavior and persons the culture labeled taboo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The association with the unusual and taboo enabled Hollywood nightlife to stand apart from depictions of the nightlife in other cities. It enhanced the usual movie industry publicity that made Hollywood nightlife seem fun and adventurous by linking the nightlife to decadence, making it appear wild. Hollywood was not the only place in the United States whose restaurants and nightclubs received coverage in the newspapers and magazines, nor was it even the fi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">rst city to receive such coverage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The coverage of nightclubs was a relatively recent phenomenon in the early twentieth century. It centered on clubs and restaurants in New York City. Few public entertainment places in the middle to late nineteenth-century United States received signi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">fi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">cant coverage in the press. Saloons limited their clientele to males and rarely became the subject of newspaper reporting except when a disturbance appeared in police reports. Brothels, dance halls, and other nightlife locations existed within city vice and tourist districts and had reputations as such debased places that they rarely appeared in the mass media.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Many of the media readers, including members of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, viewed places of public nightlife as disreputable and worked to close them down. In addition, these nightlife locations did not attract the people whose activities newspaper readers wanted to follow. Most middle- and upper-class men and women spent their leisure time in private homes and locations where admission came through membership in either a formal or informal social circle. The dominant social life for most people functioned around the private party.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">By the end of the nineteenth century, a new nightlife emerged as locations moved to more respectable areas within United States cities. Commercial locations increasingly emerged to replace the family, neighborhood, and private clubs as places to meet people and receive a variety of stimulation. Restaurants in hotels opened in more respectable neighborhoods and attracted both men and women from the upper classes. With the movement to different neighborhoods and the drawing of upscale crowds, leisure locations attracted more print media coverage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The sensationalist newspapers of the major cities discovered increased readership interest in the activities of the upper classes. They began expanding the coverage of their parties and their dining out in restaurants in the society columns. General interest magazines also depicted the activities of the wealthy in these urban locations. During the </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">fi</span><span style="line-height: 200%;font-size:85%;" >rst decades of the twentieth century, dailies in the largest U.S. markets regularly ran weekday columns and Sunday sections that chronicled “Society’s” affairs. Many newspapers began running columns containing notes on the lives of those in the theatrical world that included their activities in restaurants and nightclubs.</span></span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><i><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Hollywood Bohemians:<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><i><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Transgressive Sexuality and the Selling of the Hollywood Dream</span></i></b><i><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">By Brett L. Abrams<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Author’s Blog:<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.bla2222.wordpress.com">www.bla2222.wordpress.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Buy Links:<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">1.<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.mcfarlandpub.com/book-2.php?id=978-0-7864-3929-4">www.mcfarlandpub.com/book-2.php?id=978-0-7864-3929-4</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:georgia;" >2.<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.amazon.com/Hollywood-Bohemians-Transgressive-Sexuality-Movieland/dp/0786439297/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1232743430&amp;sr=1-1">www.amazon.com/Hollywood-Bohemians-Transgressive-Sexuality-Movieland/dp/0786439297/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1232743430&amp;sr=1-1</a></span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:Orrin-Regular;font-size:6;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-57957569235931223052009-03-29T15:19:00.000-04:002009-03-29T15:21:00.324-04:00A Slave of My Own Desire by Eve Summers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/Sc_JvAYi_II/AAAAAAAACzc/_IAfcPjmJww/s1600-h/SlaveDesire_666x1000.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/Sc_JvAYi_II/AAAAAAAACzc/_IAfcPjmJww/s400/SlaveDesire_666x1000.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318691494341835906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> <p class="MsoTitle"><span lang="EN-NZ"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p>Chapter 1<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><b><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">She: The Dangers of Dark Chocolate<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">His smile is so confident that it’s almost arrogant, and it makes me blush to imagine what his lips would taste like. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“May I get you a drink?” The teeth gleam predator-like in his face.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“Thank you, no. I already have one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Such a simple exchange: cliché even. So why does it make my heart race and my skin yearn for his caress? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“So I see,” he replies. He himself is also a cliché: very tall, very dark in the expensive-chocolate way, extremely handsome. “Except that your drink looks like a pumpkin.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I laugh. “Of course it does. It’s meant to look like a pumpkin. What with it being a Halloween party and all. Gina went to a lot of trouble to set the scene.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“She did a great job,” he brushes an imaginary cobweb strand off his sleeve. “Tell me, does it taste like pumpkin too?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">His voice is rich and intense, like the soul of a double espresso. And his lips… his lips are driving my hormones wild with desire.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I take a languid sip of my cocktail, let the orange liquid coat my tongue and throat. “Now that you mention it…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">The way he looks at me makes me hungry, too. The small red horns -- his only concession to the dress-up theme -- hint at unspoken taboos. My kind of guy. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">His hand, when it touches mine for a second, sends a wave of heat through my body. I don’t even know this man, but his sheer magnetism can only mean one thing for me: trouble. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Make that Trouble with a capital T. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I sigh. That’s not for me, I can’t help thinking wistfully. I said goodbye to Trouble when I was twenty-one.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">And now this man is threatening to destroy the peace I’ve worked so hard to attain.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“A girl like you should be drinking champagne,” he says. “Soup cocktails are not enough challenge for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">His eyes are flirting with me. Now is my chance to say that there is no champagne at my sister’s party, to which he will suggest going to his place where he undoubtedly keeps a selection of bottles on ice, and then….<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“A man like you is dangerous,” I reply before my brain kicks in. Damn.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I expect him to ask why, but he surprises me. He takes my hand and places the briefest of kisses inside my palm. Electricity zips through me at the speed of light.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“Danger, madam, is my middle name.” He turns to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I want him so much it hurts. I know I could stop him with a single word. Instead, I watch the man who could have been the man of my life walk away from me.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I should be relieved. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I’m not. My body is tingling all over, my heart is pounding in my ears. Damn me and my silly sense of what’s proper. Damn my parents, my upbringing. Damn it all. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I don’t even have his phone number.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">The pumpkin cocktail beckons with promises of oblivion and drowned sorrows. I swallow, drink up, grab another.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“There you are, Clare.” It’s my sister. “I’ve been looking for you. There is this guy, a very nice man, I work with him. Anyway, he spotted you and is now dying to meet you. Come, let me introduce you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“Gina, I -” My heart is pounding in my chest.<span style=""> </span>I’m sure she means the owner of the cutest set of buns. The one whose middle name is Danger.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">As though in a dream, I follow her down the pumpkin-lined corridor and into the den. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” I hear a thin, gallant voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I don’t even bother to raise my eyes. It’s not him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I can see why Gina described him as a nice man, though. Courteous, attentive, without an ounce of naughtiness in his body or soul. My parents would approve: a perfect son in law, somebody who would reign in their rebellious child. Gina chose well on their behalf.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">In fact, he reminds me of my first real boyfriend. My family chose that one too. He was kind and eager to please me. He treated me like a queen. I almost died of boredom.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">And now here stands his exact replica, chosen by my well-meaning sister.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Nobody cares if I want my man to have little red horns.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Disappointment bitter in my mouth, I excuse myself as politely as I can. Then, having waved goodbye to Gina, I make a point of inspecting every room. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I find walls of artificial cobwebs, bowls of lime green goo that seems to move when you breathe, plastic spiders and bottles of mysteriously viscous red liquid. I find lots of people dressed as ghosts and witches and skeletons. I even find a fog-making machine. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">But my handsome devil is not there.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">I try to tell myself it’s for the best. Goodbye Trouble.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: &quot;Californian FB&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ"><o:p> </o:p></span><br /><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: &quot;Verdana&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">A Slave of My Own Desire </span><span style="font-family: &quot;Arial Unicode MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: &quot;Verdana&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">by Eve Summers (<a href="http://yewalus.kiwiwebhost.net.nz/Eve-Summers.htm">http://yewalus.kiwiwebhost.net.nz/Eve-Summers.htm</a>) </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: &quot;Verdana&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Erotic Romance</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: &quot;Verdana&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Red Rose Publishing</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: &quot;Verdana&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">ISBN: 978-1-60435-110-1</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: &quot;Verdana&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;" lang="EN-NZ">Buy now: <a href="http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=245">http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=245</a> </span></p><p></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-14662227107936233702009-03-11T23:41:00.001-04:002009-03-11T23:44:54.419-04:00The Twist by Lee Silver<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SbiE0I1MMKI/AAAAAAAACvs/WKWHAVoeAgI/s1600-h/Twist.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 344px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SbiE0I1MMKI/AAAAAAAACvs/WKWHAVoeAgI/s400/Twist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312141791742144674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Blurb</span></strong><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;">"Every man should have to spend at least a month as a woman."</span></b><b><span style=""><br />~Debra Gaynor<br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><b><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">ZANE TOLLISON’S wife is running through their cash faster than he can make it.<span style=""> </span>A “Hail Mary” contract with Clearwater Tobacco arrives in the nick of time to keep his fledgling, consulting firm afloat and to unchain him once and for all from his narcissistic wife.<span style=""> </span>Beautiful, brilliant and estranged, KATHY DAVIS is desperate for a new beginning.<span style=""> </span>The feisty post doc bio-geneticist jumps at an offer from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Clearwater</st1:place></st1:city>, pouring her soul into a development that will revolutionize the tobacco industry.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">The two are unwittingly reeled into a convoluted plan to steal $12 million; Zane is changing into a carbon copy of Kathy, a pawn in a bizarre genetic metamorphosis, entangling Kathy in a sinewy web of seduction and deceit.<span style=""> </span>Forging a bond that will set the course of their destiny, they fight to overpower the diabolic hold that has taken over their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">I’ll admit it, I’m a geek! But setting a romance in the framework of high tech intrigue, my technical background turned out to be my best friend. I wanted a heroine who would stand toe to toe with the leading man and a plot that would keep a reader on the edge of their seat. </span></i><span style="">The Twist<i> is only the beginning.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">~ </span></i><span style="">Lee <i>~</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b><span style="color:black;">(Chapter One)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane’s eyes glazed over as he stared at the “Coca Cola” advertisement above the window on the opposite side of the aisle, hypnotized by the drone of the bus’s diesel engine. Foregoing his usual newspaper, it was all he could do to keep from falling asleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He relished the 38-minute ride to his office. He had taken on so much extra work lately trying to keep up with their bills, it was the only time in the day he had for himself. Ever since Zane had admitted to himself how deep they were in debt, it was impossible to sleep at night. He frowned. It was bad enough it consumed his days. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Excuse me. Excuse me!” the woman seated next to him huffed. “Sir, I need to get off here.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Her voice snapped him back to reality. “I’m really sorry, ma’am. What stop is this?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“<st1:city st="on"><st1:address st="on"><st1:street st="on">123rd Street</st1:street></st1:address></st1:city>.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">That was his station. At least he hadn’t missed the stop again. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane’s cheeks tingled from the sting of the cold winter air as he stepped off the bus, his head buzzing from the smell of diesel mixing with the fresh morning air. He stared at the dreary morning sky and shivered. “Cold as a witch’s titty.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He pulled his collar up around his neck. The brim of his hat tilted over his eyes, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking briskly through the light mixture of snow and rain. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane glanced at the elevator and headed for the stairwell. The closest thing to a trip to the gym he would get for the day, he hoped the jog up the steps might get the blood flowing and help to wake him up. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">The lights were already on as he walked down the short hall to his office. He opened the door to find Pat hard at work at her desk. An experienced executive secretary in her early fifties, Zane didn’t know what he’d do without her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She looked up with a concerned smile. “Did you miss your stop again?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He reached for the jelly donut in her hand and took a bite. “Actually, I didn’t. What are you doing here so early?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Zane, it’s 9:40.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He stuffed the rest of the donut in his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and picked up her coffee mug. “Shit. I must have taken the bus full circle and gotten off on the way back! Any calls?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Just one. A gentleman named Chorde. He called first thing.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Pat reached for the cup in Zane’s hand. “You weren’t here, so I figured you must have missed your stop. You usually get in about an hour after me when you do that. Anyway, I told him to call back in half an hour.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Are you that observant or am I late that often?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Her smile was her answer. “He called again about ten minutes ago.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Did you get his number?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She pressed a sticky yellow “Post It” note on his forehead. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“You’re the best, Pat. Remind me to give you a raise.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">The phone rang. “Tollison Consulting.” She rolled her eyes. “Why, yes, Mr. Chorde, as a matter of fact, he just walked in. Let me transfer you.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and pointed to the receiver. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane rushed into his office and scampered to his chair, clearing his throat as he reached for the phone. “Tollison here.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Mr. Tollison, so good to finally reach you. Jonathon Chorde, from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Clearwater</st1:place></st1:city> Tobacco. I was hoping you could assist us with a survey.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He leaned back in his chair. “A survey? Doesn’t sound like the sort of thing I normally get involved with. Sorry, can’t help you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane was about to hang up the phone when he heard the magic words that always got his attention. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Clearwater</st1:place></st1:city> is willing pay you twelve million dollars for a week of your time.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He sat up sharply, fumbling in his desk drawer for something to write with. “Excuse me, what did you say your name was again?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Chorde, Jonathon Chorde, from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Clearwater</st1:place></st1:city> Tobacco.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane grinned as he printed the name in large letters on his desk blotter. “And I suppose you also have a bridge and a large statue in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York City</st1:place></st1:city> I might be interested in.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Chorde chuckled. “I see I’ve managed to get your attention. Actually, I had the good fortune of meeting your wife at a dinner party some time back. Elise mentioned that you were a consultant, so I decided to do a little checking. Your reputation certainly precedes you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Twelve million dollars is a lot of money. Who is it you’d like me to kill for you, Mr. Chorde?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“We are under a tremendous amount of pressure from the anti-smoking coalitions who seem to feel we are adding substances to our tobacco products that make them particularly addictive to females. We only ask for your help to dispel these accusations by assisting us with a controlled survey.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane propped his elbows on the desk, his chin resting in his palm. “OK, we’re not talking illegal or immoral. So why me? There must be a hundred firms that could do a better job at this kind of work than—” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“With elections around the corner, it’s important for <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Clearwater</st1:place></st1:city> to show our commitment as a friend to small business. Given your glowing references and since you are neither a <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Clearwater</st1:place></st1:city> employee, a woman, or a smoker, you seem to be the perfect man for the job.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane cocked his head, rolling the tip of his mustache between his fingers. The bills his wife had racked up in their three short years of marriage were staggering. Aside from her jewelry box of twinkly stones and a townhouse full of artwork that could have been duplicated by failing kindergartener, they had nothing to show for a little over four million dollars of debt. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">The chair squeaked as he leaned back in his seat and propped his feet on his desk. “And the exorbitant fee for my services?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Please, call me Jonathon. Time is of the essence. It was simply an offer we felt you could not refuse.” Chorde paused. “Mr. Tollison, we have more money than God.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">A smile spread across his lips. And God answers prayers. “For twelve million dollars, Jonathon, you can count on Tollison Consulting to get the job done.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="color:black;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">“Oh yeah!” Zane got up from behind his desk, doing a cross between the Snoopy dance and the end-zone rumba in the middle of his office. “We’re in the money. We’re in the money!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Pat poked her head into his office. “What on earth is going on in here?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane wrapped his arms around his secretary’s shoulders. “I finally hit the big one.” He picked the matronly woman up off the floor and swung her in a circle. “I got a chance at a twelve million dollar contract with Chorde!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Have you gone mad? Put me down!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane set her on her heels, a hearty laugh rolling from his belly. “I’m gonna be rich!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She straightened her sleeves and leaned forward to preen the front of her skirt. “Well, that certainly is wonderful but, mind you, you’re not rich yet. Might I suggest you call Mrs. Tollison to tell her the good news?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Pat, I love ya.” Zane grabbed his secretary’s cheeks and planted a big kiss on her lips. “What would I do without you?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She waved her arms as she stormed back to the front desk. “You have gone mad!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane picked up the receiver and dialed his wife’s cell phone. “Elise, great news! Some guy you met at a dinner party just called. I just got a chance at a twelve million dollar contract.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Oooh, sweetie, that is good news! Now we can finally hire some help to take care of everything I hafta do around the house.” She giggled. “And I can throw out all these old rags and buy some nice things to wear.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Whatever, Elise.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Flirting in a sing-song schoolgirl chant, she continued. “Maybe if ya can come home from the office early tonight, we can …celebrate.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Gee, that would be terrific! I have a ton of stuff to do to get ready for the meeting with Chorde tomorrow, but I’m sure I can be home by five.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He could have heard a pin drop. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“That early? I mean, I like don’t have a thing to wear and I’ll have to order dinner, and…and everything!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Why don’t you just call me when you’re ready for me to come home?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Ooh, sweetie, you’re so smart!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“That’s why I get the big money.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Well, I better get goin’. I like have so much to do to get ready for tonight! Hugs and kisses.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane hated when his wife said that but knew the expected response. “Hugs and kis—” It was too late. Elise had already hung up. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="color:black;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">The coffee and adrenaline were quickly wearing off. Leaning against his office door, he glanced out at his secretary. With all the energy he could muster, he asked, “Could you please make plane reservations for me for tomorrow morning?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Will you be needing a rental car?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane yawned. “Oh, excuse me. No, I can catch a cab when I get into town.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“How about a hotel?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“No, I probably shouldn’t spend the money in case this thing falls through. Just get me a red-eye home tomorrow night. I can sleep in the airport. As you were so quick to point out, I don’t have that contract yet.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and handed her a fiftydollar bill. “Would you mind picking me up a dozen roses when you go out for lunch?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“For Mrs. Tollison, I hope?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“You don’t need to be so nosey, but yes, they are for Elise.” Zane hesitated. “And Pat, I’m not taking any calls today.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">His secretary nodded. “Would you like me to bring you back something to eat, or should I just knock on your door when I get ready to leave for the day?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“A knock would be fine. But please, please don’t let me miss that call from Elise.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="color:black;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Zane closed his door and loosened his necktie. He could hear the faint sound of Christmas carols on his secretary’s portable radio as he settled down on his office couch. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“…Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, For me. I've been an awful good girl, Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">His mind floated. The honeymoon ended the night of their wedding. After three years of marriage, his wife’s cute little quirks had become unbearable. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane had met Elise rather accidentally, at a dinner party given by a large package handling equipment company. Her Daddy, who turned out to be the CEO, dangled the offer of a sizeable contract and was quick to encourage a relationship between Zane and “Leesie.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She was a blonde-haired blue-eyed brick house. Never married and fresh out of some stuffy English private school, her incredible looks, youthful charm, and light sense of humor made him laugh and feel younger than he had in years. With Elise on his arm, Zane was the envy of all his friends. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Whether it had been prudent use of birth control or simply dumb luck, it was never her weekend to have the kids, a welcome change from the stuffy “30 something” professional women Zane had dated. Ten years his younger, Elise fucked like a rabbit and the sex would make your eyeballs roll back in your head. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Wedding plans were made, with Daddy taking care of all the bills. A country club reception and a trip to the French Riviera later, Elise was all his. Daddy must have seen him coming. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">At first, her little habits were easy to accept. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Whether it was indecision or she simply enjoyed the process, it took Elise three solid hours to get dressed every morning, and equally long again if they had plans for the evening. Doing and redoing her hair and make-up, she would change into an endless combination of outfits as she posed for an imaginary camera in her vanity mirror. Zane often wondered if that wasn’t what women did when they got too big to play with their Barbie dolls. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">As the clock ticked past the point of fashionably late, it always ended the same. After pleading with her to hurry up, Elise would storm out of the bedroom and whine, “I just don’t have a thing to wear. You never care how I look!” He could count on the fact she wouldn’t say another word for the rest of the night. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Conversation beyond the casual banter they shared while they were dating and her eyes glazed over. “Sweetie, I don’t mean to interrupt, but…” Chin propped in his hands, Zane hid his yawns as his wife blabbered about the current trends in shoes or how she couldn’t possibly live another day without some fifty thousand dollar toy one of her rich bitch girlfriends had just gotten. Simply put, Elise had the IQ of a vine ripe tomato. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">In defiant indignation, or a sheepish apology that she just couldn’t seem to get used to sharing a bed with him, they had started sleeping in separate rooms almost immediately after the wedding. Of course, the sex stopped too—at least with him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Nowadays, Zane just stayed at work until he was sure his wife was asleep. The TV and sofa in his office had gotten lots of use the last six months. Having waited until the worldly age of 33 before getting married, he couldn’t believe he’d blown it so badly by falling for a 24-year-old, blonde-haired blue-eyed bimbo. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">They had no marriage, but his wife was a walking wet dream. With Elise around his neck, Zane was the laughing stock of all his friends. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He glanced at the glamour shot she had taken for his birthday their first month together. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Maybe we could work things out if I could land a contract like this every once in awhile.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane fought the feelings that were building within him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Naw.” He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="color:black;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">“Zane, it’s Elise.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Umm.” He wrapped his hands behind his neck and stretched. “What time is it?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Pat poked her nose around the edge of Zane’s office door. “It’s a quarter past four.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Thanks. Put her through.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Hi, Elise. How’s it coming?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“See, sweetie, I can get ready real quick when I want to,” she said giggling. “Hurry home. I’ll be waitin’ for ya. Hugs and kisses!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“I’m on my way. Hugs and kisses.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane walked into the reception area, instantly seeing a large white box on the credenza with a fifty-dollar bill taped to the top. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Pat picked up the box and handed it to him. “You just take your money and these flowers, and go home and make up with Mrs. Tollison.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“You know, you’re a real sweetheart. Honest to God, if you were twenty years younger—” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“If I were twenty years younger, I’d have had more sense than to take a job working for you!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane opened the box. He took out a flower and smiled at his secretary. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“Oh, no, you don’t.” Pat pushed away his hand, turning as she wiped the corner of her eye. “I’m too old to get all teary-eyed about a rose. Especially when I paid for them. Your flight leaves at 6:05AM, Zane. American number 2511. Good luck tomorrow with Mr. Chorde.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Pat reached for the rose and smiled. “And tonight, with Mrs. Tollison.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="color:black;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">It had stopped raining, and the winter air was clear and crisp. Zane headed towards the bus station, a lively step to his walk as he whistled the tune to “Santa Baby.” There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he was going to miss his stop tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">The bus was crowded but he was in too good a mood to care. With a dozen roses and the ol’ Tollison charm, he even stood a pretty good chance of getting laid when he got home. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane stepped up to the front door of their townhouse. He fumbled with the lock but before he could turn the key, the door swung open. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Elise was wearing a sheer, floor-length gown with a side slit up to her waist. Her short, platinum blonde hair was moussed close to her head in sophisticated Evita style. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She put her hands behind her back, her gaze drifting towards the floor. “Do I look pretty?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Zane spied her calf peeking through the folds of shimmery fabric, following the curves of his wife’s body as his eyes locked with hers. “Elise, you are absolutely stunning.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">He could tell by his wife’s puzzled expression that his compliment was lost on her. Zane smiled. “Yes, you look very pretty.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Her eyes grew wide as she reached for the box in his arms. “For me?” Elise untied the ribbon. “Flowers! Oh Zane, they’re so pretty. Just like me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She set the box on the hallway table and draped her arms around his neck. “Sweetie, I’m sorry I’ve been a teeny bit grumpy lately. I just don’t know what’s got into me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Perching on one foot, she brought her calf up alongside his thigh, instantly commanding Zane’s undivided attention as she rubbed her silk covered leg against his wool trousers. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">Her pretty face scrunched into a pout. “Do you forgive me?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">“I, I guess.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;">She undid his necktie and pulled his face down to meet her lips. Static electricity sparked between their noses as they kissed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style=""><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="">Title:</span></b><span style=""> The Twist<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="">Author: </span></b><span style="">Lee Silver<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="">Website:</span></b><span style=""> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.LeeSilver.org"><span style="">www.LeeSilver.org</span></a><strong><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="">Genre: </span></b><span style="">Romantic Suspense <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="">Length:</span></b><span style=""> 223 pages<strong><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Available at:<o:p></o:p></span></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">(Paperback: $12.99. ISBN 978-1606011751)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Amazon<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1606011758/sirenpub-20"><span style="">http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1606011758/sirenpub-20</span></a> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">(E-book: 5.99. ISBN 1-60601-174-X)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">BookStrand: <a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/leesilver/tt.asp"><span style="">http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/leesilver/tt.asp</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Fictionwise: <a href="http://www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/eBook73194.htm?cache"><span style="">http://www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/eBook73194.htm?cache</span></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""><strong><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></strong></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-13775565587313530842009-03-11T23:35:00.001-04:002009-03-11T23:39:13.854-04:00An Opening Chapter from Silapa Jarun<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><h1 style="margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Chapter 1</span></h1> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">My brother and I are two and one.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">There is only “us”</i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">and “we”</i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">no other.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">Never.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">Another.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="">1868 Ise-han, Japan</i></span> </p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Aki pulled a hand away from his ear. The cannons stopped showering destruction upon the castle and territory</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"> </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">of Ise-han. The sword-bearing youth closed his eyes briefly as a rare breeze caressed his face, cleared the gun smoke and cut through the suffocating humidity. Large thunderclouds gathered on the horizon, promising to wash away the blood from the stronghold. There was finally a victor and loser in the war. It was over. </span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The young warrior's entire unit surrendered when they received word that their <i style="">daimyo,</i> feudal lord, had committed <i style="">seppuku</i>, ritual suicide, rather than be arrested. Amidst the injured and exhausted men beaten by starvation and superior weaponry, Aki crouched in the dirt before his approaching captors. Flutes and drums signaled the approach of the victor's official entourage and the defeated pressed their foreheads to the ground immediately. He looked up slightly to see the looming shadow of the Imperial banner creep by on the path. The youth remembered his daimyo's formal declaration to side with the Tokugawa Shogunate and defy the invading Imperial troops. He was told that everyone, even a peasant or a child, could make a difference, so Aki chose to risk his life by volunteering to relay messages from the castle to the troops. The glorious Chrysanthemum Crest of the Emperor disappeared from view like the very existence of Ise domain. Their final duty as former retainers of the Shogunate is to behave honorably as prisoners.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Quiet reigned over a large camp full of the defeated men. The earlier gentle breeze was now an icy wind which whipped about, threatening the fires and few candles which kept back the darkness. Aki was still exhausted after being forced to march nonstop to this desolate area of the domain. When he saw his brother, Akeno, the only person left in his life, he rushed to embrace the young man. <span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Akeno, still dressed as a page in the castle, was like a <i style="">bunraku</i> puppet of flesh and blood. He did not see or hear Aki. The samurai sank down onto a straw mat and brought his knees up to his chest, oblivious to Aki’s attempt to get his attention.</span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki whispered to his sibling’s shell, “Who took your soul?” and squeezed his eyes shut after staring at the enigma which lay next to him. “Akeno, I pray you will return to your body soon. Come back to me.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In his sleep, Aki could still taste the dirt in his mouth and hear the endless gunfights and cannon blasts. He could not banish the sounds of steel cutting through flesh and bone and the awful screams that followed. The young man unconsciously stretched out his arm to Akeno, seeking comfort and warmth in an effort to defeat his nightmare. His fingers found the floor instead of a warm body. </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki was suddenly seized by an intense cold, as if he was buried to the waist in snow. He summoned his willpower, refusing to dismiss the sensation as merely a dream, and forced his eyes open. This would not be the first time he could feel physical sensations experienced by his brother. He panicked and blurted out, “Something is wrong! Where is my brother?” </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The drunken guards were unaware of the stealthy shadow which climbed the low bamboo fence and headed to the shores of Genbu-ike, Black Turtle Lake. <i style="">It’s my fault. I could have stopped what happened, but I was afraid. There were too many men two nights ago. What if I had become another victim? I put myself before Akeno, my own brother, because I’m a coward.</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A neatly folded stack of silk clothing on the edge of the still lake pointed him to a figure in the black water. <i style="">It’s the outer layer of clothing he wore today.</i> Aki held his breath and scanned the waters ahead of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Akeno!” He rushed into the lake, his straw sandals slipping over smooth stones as he staggered towards his lifelong companion. </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">My body hurts. If I can just destroy this shell, then I’ll be free. If I die, I won’t have to think about it anymore. </span></i><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Akeno clutched the side of his head, as if doing so would keep his skull intact, and exhaled. “I don't want to think about it!” The samurai, wearing just a thin kimono, the last layer of his fine clothing, wrapped his arms around his center like covering a gaping wound and shivered as he kept his pace towards the depths that lay ahead. He stood in the waist high water like a statue, not hearing the shouting and splashing behind him. </span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Strong arms seized the dazed man and tried to pull him back to land.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Akeno yelped in pain. “My ribs hurt. Don’t touch me!” he gasped. “They did this to me! Let me go! I must destroy this body.” Incomprehensible sentences continued to pour from Akeno’s cold lips even as he began to realize someone was calling his name.</span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">“</span></i><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Akeno! Wake up!” </span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A strike across the face brought Akeno back to his senses, and his eyes found an identical figure before him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Aki?” he breathed. “I hate myself.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="">“</span>How can you say you hate yourself when we are the same? Do you hate me, Akeno? Do you?”<span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No, no.” Akeno was shaking his head, his face a contorted sculpture of pain and confusion. “N-Not you.” He pointed at his chest. “Me, I hate myself. Me.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="">“</span>Brother, you don’t exist. Only we exist. You cannot hate yourself.” Aki slowly reached out to hold his brother’s trembling shoulders and whispered, “Tell me everything.” They stood still in the water, one listening, one whispering.<span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Akeno was shaking. “I can’t live with this dishonor.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Then I’ll destroy the ones who hurt you. Once I have punished them, you will not have to think of this again.” Aki placed his palms on either side of his brother’s face and watched as the faint moonlight illuminated the pale, smooth skin. </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="">“</span>A-Aki, there was only one that night.” Akeno chewed his lower lip and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. <i style="">I can’t remember all their names or hideous faces.</i> “Hamada is the one who should die.” The samurai winced when he rubbed the back of his hand across the tender corner of his bruised and swollen lip.<span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki nodded. “I will dispatch Hamada with my own hands. Listen carefully. The peasant riot is moving closer to the camp tonight. When it does, you have to escape and meet with the others heading to Edo.” <i style="">Once Hamada’s blood is spilled, I will have atoned for abandoning you, Akeno. We were in that room together.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I won’t leave without you.” Akeno could not stop crying. “We came together and we should go together.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="">“</span>We will not be separated for long,” Aki said, trying to soothe his sibling’s emotions. “I promise it will be only temporary.” He clenched his teeth. “Akeno, I will not allow them<s> </s>that one<s> </s>to touch you again. I’ll take care of you from now on.”<span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Akeno, the gentle sibling, sobbed into his brother’s chest. “I—I am ashamed.” Disbelief strangled Akeno’s voice as he looked away and squeezed his fists. “It’s not supposed to happen to men.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’ll restore your honor. But first, you have to give me your clothing before leaving. They have not seen me, so it will be easy.” Aki tried to absorb the waves of grief from Akeno, but his own growing anger easily overshadowed the attempt. “Take off the wet clothing.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki dragged his twin to the water’s edge slowly, never letting his hands leave his brother’s body. He watched him strip away the soaked cloth. Seeing Akeno’s toned and lithe body was like experiencing a strange dream. It was as if his brother was an external reflection of his soul. He tried not to look at all the bruises, but it was hard to tear his eyes away from the corner of Akeno’s damaged lip.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">“</span></i><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Now you take my clothes, Akeno. They’re dirty and wet too, but at least you will not look like our Lord’s page anymore.”</span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-indent: 0.5in;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki pointed to the corner of his own mouth. “You have to<s> </s>”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Akeno punched his brother.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The older brother staggered backwards and cradled his chin. “Good.” Aki could feel the blood crawling down his chin. “Perfect. Now we match!” <i style="">As usual, brother can guess what is on my mind.</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Torches carried by the mob soon blazed across the horizon, and the chants of the farmers rumbled across the plain. They would not stand a chance against the Imperial army that rushed forth to put down the insurrection. Everyone was starving. The domain’s farmers who fed the samurai were left with nothing when the siege began. Even breast milk stopped flowing, and many babies withered away as the war climaxed. Akeno reluctantly made his escape amidst the chaos but constantly looked behind him, hoping that perhaps Aki would follow. <span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Aki ran a broken wooden comb through his hair as he watched Akeno slip into the night with both their <i style="">katana</i>, swords, tied to his back. All weapons were turned over to the enemy officers. All except the two Matsumoto family heirlooms Aki had buried under a tree earlier that day. He smoothed his raven<s> </s>black locks to make them proper, as those of his brother, and returned to the storeroom where the prisoners crouched around a weakening fire.</span><i style=""><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A teenager who was a subordinate page looked up. “Hey, Akeno?” Kajinosuke eyed the handsome older samurai suspiciously.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Tadayoshi, another attendant, tilted his head to the side. “Aki, what are you trying to do? Look, some people can’t tell the difference, but I know both you brothers too well. Why are you dressed like Akeno? Where did he go?”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki sat down slowly and smiled. “Kajinosuke, Tadayoshi, tomorrow we are going to take care of some scoundrels, and you two will help me.” He stretched out on the straw-covered floor as the two youths looked at each other. The older twin looked at a spider in the upper corner of the wooden structure. Its long legs moved slightly on the web, stretching out the silk. Aki closed his eyes and committed the name Hamada, which Akeno had whispered, to memory. <i style="">Akeno did not need to tell me who those animals were. I was there. I saw everything. I’ll never forget. Why did he just give me one name?</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aki smiled to himself. “While many people in our Ise-han have seen us ‘mirror samurai’, few can tell us apart. I’m counting on the enemy to be just as confused.”</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">your author name: Silapa Jarun</span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">your website address: <a href="http://www.silapajarun.com/">http://www.silapajarun.com </a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">link to buy your book:<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/silapajarun/kd.asp">http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/silapajarun/kd.asp</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">cover art: <a href="http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/silapajarun/sj-kd3.jpg">http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/silapajarun/sj-kd3.jpg</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /><span style="font-size:11;"></span><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-8275249583180148362009-03-11T23:30:00.001-04:002009-03-11T23:33:30.622-04:00Unspoken Truths by Destiny Blaine<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Title: Unspoken Truths <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Author Name: Destiny Blaine<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Website Address: <a href="http://www.destinyblaine.com/">www.destinyblaine.com</a> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Buy Link: <a href="http://www.whispershome.com/book_pages/unspoken_truths.html">http://www.whispershome.com/book_pages/unspoken_truths.html</a> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">First Chapter:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 15pt;" align="center"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The corner of the club defined cozy almost to the extreme. It invited intimacy with its seclusion from the rest of the crowd and the dim candlelight illuminated romance. Ally knew what would happen once she took a seat in the scantly lit area but her determined legs moved her forward. Defiant feet carried her there. Her body, with full sexual intentions, planned on winning. It spited her every single time when it came to the man walking in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He toyed with her on the dance floor denying her nothing but once they were seated, she knew what to expect. The game would change. It always did. He would forbid as much as a touch unless he initiated it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He looked over his shoulder. “Don’t worry baby. I don’t plan to make all of your <i>Tanner does me</i> dreams come true.” He stopped abruptly and flashed a wicked wink. “At least not tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">And just like that.</span></i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"> Moment ruined. Leave it to a man.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Ally’s face heated. She felt the madder-than-hell white-hot warmth wash over her. <i>Who the hell did he think he was talking to?</i> She quickly let go of his hand and stormed off in the other direction. Unfortunately, her body felt the sudden loss as soon as they parted.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Making her way for the closest exit, she passed by onlookers, the same men who watched her with lust-filled eyes when she swayed onto the dance floor an hour or so earlier. She moved quickly beyond the bouncers and barmaids only to hit the exit filled with regret. <i>He won again.</i> Tanner always did.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Once outside, she took a deep breath inhaling the undeniable smell of rain. She heard his voice and the slam of the metal door behind her. “Don’t show up at clubs where you know I’ll be if you don’t want to see me!” His laughter filled the air.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Ally wheeled around on a spiked heel. “What the hell did you just say?” She heard him. Oh boy, did she ever. He knew it too. If there was any doubt, he could quickly pick up on it as she marched over to him with anger-boiling-over strides. Those were hard to deny and she made sure she took them quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Come on baby. Don’t play dumb with me. How many light blue Corvettes do you see in this damn town with a Florida Gators tag? You knew I was here and…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“And if I did, what of it?” Cutting him off never presented a problem.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He made a solid point. It took balls or blatant stupidity to run around Knoxville, Tennessee with the University of Florida Gators plates on a car. Since he wore ignorance proudly, he really deserved to become an easy mark when she wanted to find him. The car made it uncomplicated. Yes, she saw his convertible and ditto; she stopped because she knew he was inside the club. Old habits don’t die hard. They smother the life out of innocent bystanders. Never mind virgins on the prowl.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The anger facing her was ready to leave her at a disadvantage. It ripped through her. Cut her into small pieces. Tanner Dorsey always boiled her blood.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“What of it? Well, let’s see. You walk into Jake’s, spot me on the dance floor and can’t wait to get out there just so you can shake your pretty little ass in my direction. Oh <i>but yeah</i> Ally, you’re damn straight you knew without a doubt I’d be here and you knew exactly what to do with me when you found me.” The young Mr. Dorsey spent most of his life getting under her skin.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Ally couldn’t help herself. She wished like hell she could but she just couldn’t. She never backed down from a good battle on the Tanner-playing field. “You know,” she paused for effect but to also think of something to say, “I was dancing just fine with…” She stopped again as she tried to think of a random name but she danced onto the hardwood flooring without a partner. She couldn’t pull it off fast enough to make up a non-existent dance partner.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Oh yeah you were. You got that part right because baby, you always dance <i>just fine.</i> You don’t need a man to show you what that little body of yours can do but in case you forgot,<i> you</i> danced <i>up to me</i>. The only man in the place that can handle that sweet little ass and you found me without any problem.” His face filled with the highest level of sex appeal and with an added wink, set jaw and seductive look, her knees were jelly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Damn him. Damn him to another century and back. No. <i>To hell…and without a return trip.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“What’s wrong love, cat got that pretty little tongue of yours?” He continued to taunt her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">No it wasn’t a cat. It was more like a ferocious mountain lion.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She was putty in his hands but the asshole still acted like he was fifteen. He had driven her nuts when she was twelve and into complete madness at eighteen. At twenty-two, she was certifiable.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He was still full of himself. Ally couldn’t think of one thing to say to him. Not one, lone word. She huffed and puffed or at least, thought she did before she turned to look for her car. They appeared to be alone in the well lit parking lot. Something she noted when she started walking.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Looking for someone?” He noticed she surveyed the large area. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“No, not at all. Just checking the place out to be sure there aren’t any witnesses around who will see me when I kill you.” There was a hint of humor in her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Within seconds he had his arm draped around her shoulders and she knew he had already undressed her with his eyes. The playfulness evident in his voice. “I can’t die yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She stopped short of reaching her car. “Why not? It seems like a viable option.” She looked him up and down. Yep, he still looked lean. Perfect. Good enough to eat. Hell, he deserved to die. She picked up a steady pace again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He quickly caught up with her again but his demeanor had changed when he spoke. It had seriousness oozing from it. “I’m not ready to die. I haven’t experienced everything…everyone…yet.” He grabbed at her waist and pulled her toward him with rough hands. She could have sworn she heard a thump when she landed against his chest but decided it most likely had been the lump moving to her throat that caught there on impact.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She grunted, or so she thought. Maybe she didn’t but she had the shove down to an art when both of her palms went to his hard upper body to push him away. “You think you’re so funny. Fucking hilarious.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Comical or not, he was right. She used to feel the same way when it came to him but she’d decided the year before that Tanner wasn’t part of her past, at least beyond little school girl dreams, and he couldn’t be a part of her future. Denied attraction never ended in satisfaction and when she joined the FBI, she sealed her fate. With each passing day, she’d come to accept it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Drive me home?” He interrupted her thoughts as they approached her graphite pearl Honda Accord.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“No.” Her answer was flat. She knew he wouldn’t notice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Because you can drive yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 15pt;" align="center"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He was all over opportunity. Always had been. “Yes, I could. You’re exactly right. I could drive myself but look at me; do I look like a man who likes to ride alone?” He bit his lower lip and the dimples he flashed should have landed him in jail. “Besides, if I drove tonight…”his words started to slur on command, “I’d likely catch a DUI.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Before she could say anything, she watched him walk to the other side of the car determined to get a lift home. “Tanner, I can’t. I don’t have time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“You don’t have time to drop me off four buildings down from your own?” He smirked. “Yeah, okay.” His voice clearly held that ‘duh’ tone and a hint of determination.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He ignored her. Again. She knew it before she opened her car door and long before he opened the passenger’s side door. She knew it before he sat down and probably guessed as much when he followed her into the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 15pt;" align="center"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">They sat quietly in the bucket seats for a few seconds before the keys were placed in the ignition. She leaned over the steering wheel and looked up at the street light with unwarranted interest. “Why do you always <i>do</i> this?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He was ready to play. “Why do <i>you </i>do this?” He chuckled as he reached across her taking his time to buckle her safety belt before he grabbed his own. “I’m ready when you are baby doll.” He’d been so close when he moved his arm across her waist, all he would have had to do is look up. She felt a pucker form on her lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She shot him a condescending look and then shifted the car into reverse. “Yeah, well you may have waited just long enough to miss your chance.” She wasn’t really prepared for what came next. If she had a rewind button designed specifically for a shameless big mouth, she would’ve hit pause first, to gather her thoughts, and then replay or better yet, erase.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He was fast. He reached over and slammed the car into park. Luckily, she’d been in reverse with her foot still on the break. “Ally, I can’t stand a woman who mumbles. What did you say? I don’t think I heard you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">His eyes danced. She could see them in the moonlight along with the overhead lamp that he switched on for theatrics. He wanted an invitation but he wouldn’t get one. His firm stare didn’t move away and neither did his hand which rested easy on the gear shift. The old Ally would’ve dismissed it with a wave of lofty fingers but the new woman who replaced the has-been had lived a little since the last time she’d been with the man sitting beside her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Shifting in her seat, she turned to face him. “I said…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Tanner moved close. “I heard what you said but what I want to know is why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Why what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">His voice lowered. “Why did you come here tonight, Ally?” Thank goodness he was going to let her mumbling words pass. He didn’t look away from her which was okay because it gave her the opportunity to revisit his outer appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">So easy to look at, so hard to tolerate</span></i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">. She tried to convince herself that she spotted a gray hair in his head. <i>Maybe he’ll age quickly. Maybe he’ll get a beer gut. Maybe, he’ll lean over here and kiss me until tomorrow. </i>It was always the same thing with her. She would scour over his tall frame with a meticulous eye and try to find a blemish in his perfection before wishing him to a fate that would ruin him for another woman.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">It generally ended up, at least at some point, with her wishing him away to a life of impotent possibilities. She’d even gone as far to check out the Viagra site to see what his chances were. Slim. With his sex drive and vibrant health, very slim.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Ally? Why do you want to stroll into town and straight into Jake’s? It’s not a place for nice girls.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Maybe I’m not a nice girl anymore.” Damnation, how she wished that were true.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He moved closer so she could breathe him in and a hand went to her knee before he began to crawl with steady fingers toward her thigh. “I might just want to find out.” The twinkle in his eye disappeared. Instead, he peered up with a certain element of darkness about him. Hooded eyes watched the rise and fall of a heavy chest.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Her breathing became interrupted just by his touch. She knew her eyes gave away everything but more than anything else, fear lingered. A broken heart wasn’t something she could stand one more time.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">His lips moved to her collarbone but they didn’t meet skin. Heated words were mumbled with a raspy call to uninhibited pleasures. His mouth strategically plotted to deliver but refused to give while words stung just a little more. “Baby, you still aren’t ready <i>for me</i>. That I can promise you but what I want to know is why you want to play where the big boys entertain the <i>naughtiest of girls</i>?” He moved away from her slowly taking a smooth hand from her leg.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I don’t know why. Okay? It was a mistake. I know Jake’s isn’t a place for me, at least according to you. I got that. Okay? Now, please just <i>get out</i>.” Hot, raw emotion ate at her gut. She was on fire from his touch, heated by the moisture forming in her eyes, never mind the puddle of slick heat forming between her legs.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;"><span style=""> </span>She continued as if she had to justify her reasons. “If I thought you were too drunk to drive, I’d do the right thing and give you a ride home but you haven’t had anything to drink in the last hour or so because we’ve danced for that long. Besides that, I know you and you never drink more than you can handle.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He moved close to her. Playing her for all she was worth and then some. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you’ll take me home, see me to the door <i>and </i>kiss me good-night, I’ll never tell Darren and David I saw you here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Her daring eyes locked with his and she wanted to scream as soon as he tossed out the names of her brothers. She also wanted to kick his ass and she wanted to do it slow too. <i>Slow and easy.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“You wouldn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He moved away from her and settled into his seat leaning his head back. “I would, and honestly?” Moving up a little, he turned his neck and glanced to the side. “I’d enjoy watching them scold you.” He closed his eyes and pretended to relax. “Hell, I’d even offer to spank you just so I can know the feel of your bare ass on my palm. Maybe now that you’re old enough, they’d even let me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">A sigh fell dramatically into the wind while she threw the gear shift into reverse and drove him home without another word but the smack-smack sound of him spanking her ass offered appeal. She could almost hear it and what she would give just to <i>feel it.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">It was safe to say, she’d lost her ever-lovin mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 15pt;" align="center"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Fifteen minutes later and they pulled into his complex. She didn’t bother to put the car into park. It didn’t matter; the arrogant ass in the passenger’s seat did it for her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Well?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“So you’re here. Safe and sound.” Her words found a deliberate coolness.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“It appears I am but you won’t be if I have to go straight up those stairs and tattle to your brothers. You know, just so they won’t worry about you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Now she was pissed. “Tanner, have you failed to notice that I am not a child anymore? Have you? Have you forgotten that…?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you aren’t a child anymore.” He moved closer to her. “What I want to know is why are you back in town? Last I heard you were working as a DEA agent or something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Yeah. Or something. </span></i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The <i>something</i> presented the problem.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">Tanner winked before he grabbed the door handle. “Come on, walk me to the door.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She jumped out of the car and did as she was told. She always did as she was told. If her brothers weren’t telling her what to do when she was growing up, Tanner offered to do it for them and it hadn’t gotten any better once she found a career with the FBI. At the moment she just wished like hell she hadn’t chosen a career in law enforcement. More than anything else, she wished that Tanner didn’t deliberately get under her skin.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She approached the building somewhat cautiously. He kept his eyes on her. “You look really good Ally. A sight for sore eyes and all that.” He was never one to make small talk. At least, not with her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“Thanks.” She fired back the note of appreciation.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“How long has it been?” He stopped on the last step before moving forward with a nod.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">She knew what he meant. “It’s been over a year.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I thought you weren’t coming back here,” he challenged her. She knew he would. He had to be curious about why she would bother. There wasn’t anything left for her in Knoxville. He made that clear to her when she left. He told her with finality that she would never be in his heart or…in his bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">“I didn’t plan on it.” Her foot hit the last step and she let out a long sigh. How many times had she walked up these steps to find her brothers? How many times had her parents sent her to fetch them knowing that they were mixed up with Tanner and his <i>business?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">The lights were on and the lingering and familiar noise of football games drifted outside. “Which one is here?” She should’ve known both her brothers would be at Tanner’s place. They always hung out there and the reason for it waited on the other side of the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.3in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;;">He moved closer to her with a mischievous whisper and a twinkle in his eye. “Which one do you want to see first?” He put the key in the door and turned pushing the door back to showcase the familiar sight.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-54703898289106959682009-03-11T23:23:00.001-04:002009-03-11T23:29:06.698-04:00Rough Justice by Suzanne Perazzini<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SbiAPm3Pq5I/AAAAAAAACvk/WyoUWWZNF9U/s1600-h/Rough+Justice.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SbiAPm3Pq5I/AAAAAAAACvk/WyoUWWZNF9U/s400/Rough+Justice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312136766102154130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“Jack, where the hell is <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Logan</st1:city></st1:place>? Why didn’t he turn up? I wandered around that bloody airport like a lost soul for an hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“Calm down Niki,” my boss said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">I had stormed into Jack’s office frustrated and angry and had plunked my rear end down on his table. He was being very understanding considering my bad manners. I looked down at his frowning face and was worried to see his fifty years etched in the creases around his eyes. Jack never looked his age. His deep determination was always overlaid by boyish optimism, making him ageless - one of us.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">He got up and closed the door, but not before I saw the misery on Eddie’s and Jenna’s faces in the main office. A tremor moved over my skin and I pivoted around to stare at Jack as he sat behind his desk, lacing his fingers together.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“Niki, please sit down. In the chair.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">Wiping my suddenly sweaty hands on my trousers, I slid off the desk and sank down into the soft folds of the armchair against the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“What’s happened to him?” I whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">Jack looked down at his lap and shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“We don’t know. His camp was ambushed by poachers and they’ve found everyone else’s bodies but his.” He looked up, his face darkly shadowed. “It’s not looking good, Niki. I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">A great pit opened in front of me threatening to suck me into its shadowy depths. I placed my hands beneath my legs to still their trembling and breathed deeply, expanding my stomach but I could feel despair settling in for the long haul. Suddenly, I sat forward on the edge of the sofa.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“But he was due back home today. He wouldn’t have been at the camp – that’s why they can’t find him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“Niki, the camp was attacked four days ago which was well before he was to leave. The message just got through to us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">I stood up, my brain in overdrive as it tried to fight beyond the shock and absorb the news. To keep the blood pumping to my vital organs, I started pacing the wooden floor of Jack’s office. I looked at the African Wildlife Preservation Society logo painted on his door and felt <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Logan</st1:city></st1:place> had become one of the endangered species we studied.<span style=""> </span>He was alone somewhere in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Zambia</st1:country-region></st1:place> and I needed him home with me. Three months apart and I ached for his touch. I knew I functioned perfectly well without a man, but he was more than that – he was my colleague and my friend and my lover, so I felt his absence in many ways at many times of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">I skirted around the edge of the pit, watching it waver in and out of focus as I fought to stay upright.<span style=""> </span>Nine years together – nine years of deep love. Why hadn’t I felt anything, a premonition or something that would have warned me? I swirled on Jack.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">“Get me to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Zambia</st1:country-region></st1:place> now! He’s not dead because I would sense it. We can’t give up on him without a fight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">Jack ran his hands through his grey hair, tugging at its ends in distress. “Niki, give it a few days. They’re looking for his body now. We’ll hear soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">I slammed both hands down on the desk in front of him. “And what if he’s alive and needs our help? They’re looking for a body not someone who could be holed up somewhere or who’s been kidnapped. Give him a chance by letting me go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">Jack stood up and walked around his old leather-topped desk. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face. “Niki, I know this is hardest on you, but I don’t think tearing over there is the answer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">Annoyed, I shook off his hands. “And what would you do if you were me? Sit here in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">New Zealand</st1:country-region></st1:place> and wait for news of his death or would you go and try to find out what happened?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">I knew I had him. His shoulders went limp, the tension easing from the muscles around his eyes. “You’re right. I would be on the next plane. You’re quite right. I wouldn’t give up without a fight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">I spun towards the door. “Can you call in some favors and get me on the next flight out? I’m going home to pack.” I looked back and saw Jack nod.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU"><a href="http://www.suzanneperazzini.com/"><span style="">http://www.suzanneperazzini.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU"><a href="http://www.suzanneperazzini.blogspot.com/"><span style="">http://www.suzanneperazzini.blogspot.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU">Link to buy book: <a href="http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=226"><span style="">http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=226</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 21.55pt;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-46593722524850454512009-01-24T16:59:00.001-05:002009-01-24T17:03:36.435-05:00Towards Understanding by Dave & Lillian Brummet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SXuPaB2rVwI/AAAAAAAACmA/TqG_gNJ3-AQ/s1600-h/Towards+Understanding.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SXuPaB2rVwI/AAAAAAAACmA/TqG_gNJ3-AQ/s400/Towards+Understanding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294983464241288962" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >1<sup>st</sup> Chapter<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Book: Towards Understanding<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Author: Dave &amp; Lillian Brummet<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Website: <a href="http://www.brummet.ca/">www.brummet.ca</a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <h3>Excerpt:</h3> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" >This book has been organized in Chronological order according to the year in which the work was written, beginning in 1987 – when I was 17.<span style=""> </span>I began writing poetry about the age of 16, but that work does not appear in this book as it was too blue and angry for the public – in fact I completely deleted those files some time ago.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" >Poetry was one of the tools that I used to crawl out of hell. Never intending it to be read by others, it was my way of dealing with things. You will see me battle past demons, raise my voice in anger, discover self-awareness and recover from an intense relationship. You will witness the healing as I become aware of the value of my life. Finally, I begin to see beyond myself and start to question society and endeavor to understand others. I also discover a love for, and a dedication to, the health of the Earth.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" > <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" >I hope that you will enjoy the journey as much as I have had fun in experimenting with different writing styles and using different rhythms wit words.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">WOMEN'S JEALOUSY</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The girl in white lace and shiny gray stockings,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Attacks every man with her nightmarish taunting.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Her beauty is rare, her movements are sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Her casual flirting leaves minds in a blur.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Women both hate her and dote on her too.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >They wish they could be that woman anew.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >But they're only themselves - though jealous they be;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Thinking from women like that, no man would flee.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >But she's covered in make-up and shading and light.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And she'll take many photos until she gets it just right.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >These women wish with all of their foolish might,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >That they forget who their man's with tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >As they wrack themselves over this orchestrated myth,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >They enlarge the distance from the one they're with.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">FEBRUARY'S SILENT EMBRACE</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The waves softly touching desert-like sands...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The sea gulls making known their demands...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The wind whispering through budded leaves...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The water rises as the snow grieves...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Familiar birds fly back home,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >To ready their nests for the unborn.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Colors change from gray to green...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >As the rain washes earth's face clean.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The stars shine brighter than before...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >As the do the eyes of those who adore,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The glorious feelings from this wonderful place;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Brought by the tides of February's silent embrace.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">GAME OF LOVE</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Tears and heartache, and pain, and all;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Are just part of this treacherous game.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Insecurities, jealousy, and control;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Are just weapons with a name.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >This game is a serious one, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Where wonderful dreams of sweet romance,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Give power to schemes of deceit.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >By now you should know the name,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Of this exciting, yet dangerous game;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Whose joy-filled moments of sweet romance,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Entice us to gamble, again and again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Yet no matter which move a player makes; <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Though the pieces may still separate;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The board is in continuos play.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">OF YESTERDAY, I DREAM</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Of yesterday, I dream.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The happiness then, it seemed,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Would never really end.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Yet, now, to live...I must pretend.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Helplessly, I slowly die.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >In pain, I stumble, I fall...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >My mind is slipping away...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >My movements jerk and sway.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >My children and husband have gone...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Leaving me to suffer alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Afraid, I hover in my dreams,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >For I've only my walker, on which to lean.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >There's so much I would change...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >...Times I'd rearrange...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >All my possessions I'd gladly give,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >If one more yesterday, I could live.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >I would a cure to come…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >To save my defenseless corpse;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >As this disease eats my muscles and bones...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >I muffle my furious groans.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >...In humiliation, I weep,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >How fast this disease did creep!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And in night, I find my only haven...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >My one comfort comes from sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >...I would to dream forever...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Where I have yesterday once more;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And never again would I have to take,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The disappointment, each morning I wake.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >ODE TO VICKY WARD<b style="">:</b></span></i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" > A good friend &amp; a victim of multiple sclerosis.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">EDUCATED LIES</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >I grieve for this world, as it fights its wars;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Where humans, all slam their doors;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Here, people starve, knowing only pain...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >While others, rich, stake out their claims.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Sad to see...such emptiness I feel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >This world can't last forever;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Life's just a one-time deal.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Man - thinking ourselves unbeatable,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Tried to conquer with knowledge we lacked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Now, so far destroyed, earth takes her final stance,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >While we pray for just one second chance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >We watch, knowing what our children will see.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Helpless, we can't undo this awful disease.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >So watch, my people, my educated men...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Just watch your ancestor's victory descend, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >While you sit at your desks &amp; thunder your speeches...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Cry, for your child's child will live to die,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Because of educated men...educated to lie.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /></span></u></p><p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">PURPOSE?</span><o:p></o:p></span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Is there a purpose for us all?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Do we learn each time we stumble and fall?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And as we bleed, do we feel appreciation?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Bleeding, we suffer our own creation...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Shallow little hearts beat out sophisticated lives;<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Lungs wheezing air in our polluted hives.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Bitter bile churns and chars our core,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >As we worry and bite, how to take more.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Purpose in chaos - or a religious dream?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Disorganized intentions push us upstream.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And perilous waters carry our tiny hives, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Through the whirlpools of our pressured lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /></span></u></p><p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE WORKING POOR</span><o:p></o:p></span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >We'll dig ourselves some grit,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And with our cardboard spoons,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And with our stiffened hands,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >We'll work to find a spec of gold.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Never forgetting what's bought and sold,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Ever neglecting those we've worked to hold,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Forcing us on, the longing taking us there.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >It's always lurking and beyond our control.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The pan grows rusty and holes appear,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Where the stones wore their way clear,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >A pan, once new - once brought dreams,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Today - brings little more than despair.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Wondering where the paths we seek,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Could have hidden from our blistered feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The labyrinth shines well beyond our doors… <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >We are called the lost and the working poor.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >BEGUILING YOUTH<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Self-criticism denies me experiences while shame holds me in my past.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Doubt in social circles leads me to my own grounds where thoughts are cast.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Shadowed by a hint of sorrow my glee over my acquirements dwindles. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >A sense of an invasive realism blossoms, firmly melting fiction away.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And as I stand in a puddle of wholesome ideals once preached,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >I insanely stamp in it, sending it splattering to the heated ground,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >So that it sizzles away with my anger. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And rising, the steam reaches for the stars...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And as it rises I dare it to return in showers of answers and brilliant justice...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Which will cool my fury over the beguiling innocence of youth.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">LOCOMOTION</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Locomotion keeps me moving through the confusing compulsive waves of life.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And, lost in this rush, I consume &amp; exhaust myself for the unknown.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Feeling awfully tired I pause &amp; look in at my routines in disgust.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >And a desperate yearning to escape beyond the maze &amp; into self-sufficiency arises.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <h1><o:p> </o:p></h1>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-57382605849964013682009-01-24T16:50:00.003-05:002009-01-24T16:57:23.200-05:00Excerpt from Trash Talk by Lillian Brummet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SXuOs41dM3I/AAAAAAAACl4/jCK12WFJ6Aw/s1600-h/Trash+Talk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 339px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SXuOs41dM3I/AAAAAAAACl4/jCK12WFJ6Aw/s400/Trash+Talk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294982688726135666" border="0" /></a><br />Book: Trash Talk<br />Author: Dave &amp; Lillian Brummet<br />Website: <a href="http://www.brummet.ca/">www.brummet.ca</a><br /><br />Excerpt from Pg: 21-<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BAGS</span><br /><br />Production of plastic grocery bags actually consumes 40% less energy, generates 80% less solid waste, produces 70% less air pollution, and releases 94% fewer waterborne wastes than paper bags! Both can be reused and recycled, but paper bags can also be composted. Plastic bags accumulate quickly and many people want to reuse them, but they are soon bulging uncontrolled from our cupboards and drawers. There are now storage containers available to organize this, to be either mounted to a wall, or hung from a hook. They have a hole at the top where bags are contributed, and a hole at the bottom where they can be pulled out. We use two of them in our home, one for grocery bags and one for bread bags.<br /><br />Grocery Bags<br /><br />Many people bring their own cloth or canvas bags for their grocery shopping. Gudrun, our friend from Germany tells us there is often a deposit on shopping bags, and so the use of cloth bags is much more common throughout Europe. Relatively inexpensive, cloth bags can be washed and reused many more times than plastic and are unlikely to tear when full of groceries. The stores will have an easier time maintaining prices if there is a reduction in plastic bag demand.<br /><br />Cloth bags are an excellent advertisement feature and would make fine customer appreciation gifts for your business with your logo on them.<br /><br />The plastic grocery bags have so many uses in our home that we often run short of them. The most common reuse is for wastebasket liners. Why buy wastebasket bags for dry waste areas when we get them for free? A box of 24 bags costs $3.50 (more when tax, shopping time, and fuel spent getting to the store are figured in), and the average house consumes 2-3 boxes a year. So just by lining your dry wastebaskets with grocery bags, you could save $10.50 a year. It does not sound like much, but this is just one example of the many uses for these bags.<br /><br />We use them to carry various things during transport for items such as used clothing that we are donating, or books we are bringing to a friend. We take them to farmer’s markets when buying fresh produce. Use them to store your own garden harvests in the fridge, or to send off with visitors. We take them to dog-friendly trails to donate to the bag dispenser at the trail head. Hopefully it may encourage other owners to clean up after their loved ones.<br /><br />For those of you who have extras, you may want to consider donating to the food-bank or thrift stores, which are often in need of bags. Use when camping to store laundry and to keep items dry. Because they take up very little room crumpled into tiny, weightless bundles, we pack them inside paper towel and toilet paper tubes. To reduce weight in the backpack and prevent tempting scavengers, we make our camping and trail meals from dry ingredients. Dried meals only take a few minutes to absorb the hot water—reducing fuel consumption, lingering odors, dishes, and cooking time. We often cut bread bags to fit the size of the dried meals or snacks and then double bag the lot of them as an added insurance. This storage method reduces food odors, thereby decreasing the chances of enticing wildlife to the bear bag or backpack. On the return hike, carry a bag in hand and scan the trail for garbage. – see Clean Walking.<br /><br />Years ago, we watched a news special on an elderly lady who made grocery bags into rugs. She tore the bags into rough, uneven strips and crocheted the strips together. She began the hobby just for herself, but the rugs became so sought after that she was kept busy with a constant supply of bags and requests. Looking at the rugs you would have never guessed they were made from recycled bags. Ruth, a very creative friend, used her over-abundance of bags to stuff her valance curtains.<br /><br />Clear (Bread) Bags<br /><br />Smaller plastic food bags usually come clear or translucent and, unlike shopping bags, have no holes. Sealed plastic bags (from frozen peas or powdered milk) can be cut open and reused many times as well. However, thin produce department bags often use water-soluble inks, so we do not wash them or reuse for food.<br /><br />Using a sink of fresh hot soapy water, open the bag and swish around. Fill it about 3/4 full with the soapy water, grip the top together, lift above the sink and move it about to check for leaks. Where there are holes, there will be a steady stream of water. Throw those bags out or reuse them where a perfect seal is not required.<br /><br />Rinse the bags and hang to dry. You can do this a few different ways. The simplest is to droop the bags over a full dish rack allowing them to drip dry. Or, pinch one corner in a cupboard door over the sink or dish rack. Some people have strung lines for the bags to hang with a clothespin but, again, it should be over a sink or drip tray. If you have the time, they can be dried by hand but a little moisture will remain, so leave the bags out in the open air for a while. In a few hours, turn them inside out so they dry completely before storing.<br /><br />We reuse plastic yogurt containers to freeze foods but because they do not have a seal suitable for freezer use, we make sure by doubling up with one of our bags. After placing the full container in the bag, gather the top together and suck the air out before sealing it with a recycled twist tie, or simply tie a knot in the bag. Placing your sticky label on the bag eliminates the problem of getting labels off the plastic containers.<br /><br />Use to store garden produce and home baked goods. At our home, they are used all the time for lunches on the go. Used for pet waste, used oil, meat scraps, and bones, bags will help contain and isolate offensive odors in the garbage can. A smelly can tends to be taken out whether it is full or not, resulting in more garbage bags being used.<br /><br />Clear plastic bags can also be utilized in the greenhouse. This is where those leaky bags come in handy. We cover flats of newly sown seeds with a bag that has been cut open so that it lies flat. This provides a mini-greenhouse effect and keeps the moisture in. As the seedlings grow, prop up with little sticks so that the plastic does not sit on the leaves and cause rot. Insert plant pots into plastic bags to eliminate the need for drip trays. When cloning, create a mini-greenhouse by bringing the bag up over the cutting, and close with a greenhouse twist tie.<br /><br />Zipper lock sandwich and freezer bags can be washed and reused more than a dozen times. Let us quickly estimate how much this one simple act saves the household money. At $2 a box, reusing the bags a dozen times saves your home $24. We are avid gardeners and between food storage and lunches, we save about $50 a year by reusing zipper bags. For this reason, we purchase the best quality we can find on the shelf. Recently, snack manufacturers have started to use strong foil bags with a zip top, making them ideal for reuse.<br /><br />Food bags are not the only kind one can reuse. Our pet food bags are reused for sorting recycling, and to line the larger workshop waste bucket. Bags used to protect mailed magazines work well for containing odors in the garbage bag. The list goes on and on.<br /><br />Benefits<br />• Extend the life of the landfill.<br />• Save money by reducing the number of bags you need to buy (along with their packaging).<br />• Reduce the number of trips to the grocery store.<br />• Cloth bags:<br />- are very unlikely to tear when full of groceries.<br />- can be washed and reused many times.<br />- make an excellent advertisement feature.<br />- make fine gifts.<br />• Stores will have an easier time maintaining prices if there is a reduction in plastic bag demand.Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-11126421674563083542009-01-11T18:11:00.002-05:002009-02-25T15:58:02.540-05:00Chapter 1 - The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SWKTpsPEhNI/AAAAAAAACf8/c-_LTdt1f7A/s1600-h/Mind+of+a+Genuis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 297px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SWKTpsPEhNI/AAAAAAAACf8/c-_LTdt1f7A/s400/Mind+of+a+Genuis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287951256944674002" border="0" /></a><br /><b style="">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:11;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:11;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">The phone began to ring and freelance MI4 agent, Jason Clay reluctantly disengaged himself from the girl he was kissing and reached for the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Hello,” he said, grabbing the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Is that Clay?” said the voice at the other end.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">It was a posh, home county voice and Clay thought it sounded vaguely familiar. But at that very moment, he couldn’t place it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“It is,” he said frowning. “You sound familiar, who’s that?” Clay spoke with a mildly posh London accent.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“You’ve got a poor memory. It’s Colin Shooter.” Clay smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter was the assistant head of the MI4 and he knew that Shooter never called him just to say hello. Whenever Shooter called, there was always a reason, and a very good reason at that.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Hello you,” said Clay cheerfully. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">He was grinning now, and the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, a tall, slim blonde with lovely blue eyes, and who was about 24-years of age, was staring at him, a curious expression in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Long time, no see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Listen, Clay,” said Shooter, “I’ve got something that might wet your appetite. “You haven’t got anything on, have you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Only the shirt on me back,” said Clay smiling. “And that’s coming off very soon.” <span style=""> </span>The girl chuckled. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Just like the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, Clay was tall, slim and Handsome with blonde hair, and lovely blue eyes. He was 34-years-old and had a smile that made the girls go wild. All he had to do was smile and within minutes, they’d be telling him the story of their life.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Tonight, he was wearing a white silk shirt and a pair of white cotton trousers.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I’ve got something that’s right up your alley,” said Shooter. “This one’s irresistible. You’ll love it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Will I?” said Clay jokingly, wondering what it was, and what was in it for him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I know you will,” said Shooter, at the other end of the line.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“You know my terms, don’t you?” said Clay, smiling. “I won’t even contemplate getting out of bed for anything less than ten thousand a day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“You’d be lucky to get half of that for this one,” said Shooter. “But come and see me tomorrow morning in my office at ten, and we’ll talk business, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay continued to smile. “Ten thousand a day plus expenses or no deal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I’ll see you in my office at ten sharp tomorrow,” said Shooter. “And don’t be late.” And the line went dead.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“That guy,” said Clay, dropping the receiver, shaking his head and turning sideways to stare at the girl sitting beside him. “He drives a hard bargain, but he’s all right.” The girl smiled invitingly, but didn’t say anything.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Now where were we?” said Clay smiling, as they started to kiss passionately, again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">The time was now 20.47 and they were sitting on a beige leather sofa in Clay’s spacious, luxurious living-room. The TV was on, but the volume had been turned down low. As they continued to kiss, they could hear it raining hard outside, and there was the occasional rumble of thunder. But that didn’t bother them, as they were now in paradise.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">At 10.00am the following day, Colin Shooter sat in a conference room, at a conference table, in the MI4 head office in Vauxhall, overlooking the River Thames and worked on his laptop. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">At 56, Shooter was tall, well-built, and had light brown hair. He was an ex-banker.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Today, he wore a brown suit, a yellow shirt and a brown tie.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Also in the room, sitting around the conference table was Special Agent, Paul Hudson and Special Agent, Janet Bond.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Hudson was 38, tall, dark and lean with handsome features and dark brown curly hair. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">He wore a well-cut, navy blue Italian Suit, a white shirt and a black and blue stripped tie. He was an ex-solicitor, and a very good one, and it was his track record more than anything else that had impressed the M14 into employing him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Janet Bond was 32, 5-foot-7, slim with a nice curvy figure, and blonde with blue eyes, and Scandinavian features. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">She was a beauty, but she was also very intelligent. And it was the combination of beauty and brains that had attracted Shooter to her.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">The phone started to ring, and Shooter snatched the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Colin Shooter,” he said, speaking into the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Mr Shooter, I have Mr Jason Clay here to see you.” The receptionist’s voice came clearly through the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Give him a cup of tea,” said Shooter. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to see him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“No worries,” said the receptionist.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">And Shooter put the phone down. As he put the phone down, he continued to work on his laptop, and both Hudson and Bond sat in silence, with a blank expressions on their faces.<span style=""> </span>They knew that whatever Shooter was doing on his laptop had to be vital, as Shooter was always very punctual.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Ten minutes later, Shooter finished working on his laptop and reached for the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Send him in,” he said, when he got through to the receptionist. And he put the receiver down.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Three minutes later, there came a knock on the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Come in,” said Shooter.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">The door slid open and Clay wandered into the room. <span style=""> </span>He wore a beige coloured suit, a beige coloured shirt and a red tie. He was looking very smart and there was a cheeky smile on his face, as he wandered into the room, and<span style=""> </span>walked towards the conference table.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Morning, all,” he said, aware that everyone was watching him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">The others returned his greeting.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Take a seat,” said Shooter, waving him to a chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay moved towards the chair and sat on it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Thanks for coming,” said Shooter. “This one’s a beauty and you’re gonna love it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“That remains to be seen,” said Clay, smiling at him. “Let’s have the details and we’ll take it from there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter stared at Clay. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">He didn’t like Clay’s cocky attitude. Come to think of it, he wasn’t too fond of Clay. But Clay had his uses.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Malcolm Prince, the scientist, remember him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay thought for a moment, then he remembered.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“He died a few months ago, didn’t he?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter nodded. “And that’s why you’re here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Come off it,” said Clay, his smile turning into a grin as he looked from Shooter to Hudson, from Hudson to Bond and from Bond back to Shooter.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I didn’t kill him. You’ve got the wrong guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I wouldn’t put it past you,” said Shooter, smiling at Clay. “You’d do anything for money, wouldn’t you? But if you’ve got your facts right, you’ll know that Prince died of a heart attack.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I could have told you that,” said Clay, smiling at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter continued to talk. “Malcolm Prince was one of the finest scientist in the world. And at the time of his death, he had just completed a major project; a project that could change the world; a project that could benefit the world.” There was a pause, then Shooter continued to talk.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“We don’t know what the project was about. It was a well-kept secret, but we do know that the project was completed shortly before he died. Shortly before he died, he was on the verge of revealing the project to the world. But now he’s dead, and nobody really knows what that project was based on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“That’s sad,” said Clay.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter continued to talk. “We’d like you to try and find out what that project was about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“And how do you expect me to do that?” said Clay, changing his position on his chair. Shooter smiled at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Prince has a very lovely wife, and rumour has it that he was very fond of her. We have a feeling that she might have some vital information. Your task is to seduce her and to find out what that project was about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay gaped at him. <span style=""> </span>“I thought you said I was gonna to love it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“You’re a very impatient man,” said Shooter, smiling at Clay. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">He was thoroughly enjoying himself.<span style=""> </span>“Patience is a virtue, Clay. Agent Bond has a present for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Special Agent, Janet Bond produce an envelope and slid it across the table towards Clay. Clay opened the envelope, removed a glossy photograph and stared at it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">A beautiful, middle-aged, blonde woman with blue, friendly eyes, wearing a navy blue shirt stared at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay studied the woman in the picture and a wave of excitement swept through him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">The woman in the photograph looked classy, exciting and sexy. A combination that Clay considered to be irresistible. Shooter was right. He had a feeling that he was going to love this assignment. Here was an opportunity to have a good time, and at the same time, to make some decent money. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay smiled as he studied the photograph. It was a passport photo that had been enlarged into a 6 x 4 photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter and the others watched him, as he studied the photograph, and Shooter had a feeling that Clay was hooked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Nice girl,” said Clay, dropping the photograph on the table in front of him and smiling at Shooter.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Laura Prince,” said Janet Bond. “45-years-old, 36-26-36 and an ex-secretary. She has a penchant for handsome toy boys. Had a few lovers when Prince was alive, but isn’t seeing anyone at present.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Very nice,” said Clay smiling and looking around the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I told you,” said Shooter. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“But what makes you think she gonna fall for me?” said Clay.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“You fit the bill perfectly,” said Hudson, in his posh accent<span style=""> </span>“You have a way with women. You can charm the birds out a tree. We’re sure you can swing it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I can try,” said Clay. “But I can’t guarantee success.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“That’s good enough for me,” said Shooter. “We don’t know for sure if she knows anything. She may be none the wiser, but all we can do is try.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“That’s fine,” said Clay. “Ten thousand a day plus expenses, and I’ll see what I can do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I don’t think so,” said Shooter, shaking his head. There was a crafty, little smile on his face. “Five thousand a day plus expenses, and you can take it or leave.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay smiled at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I’ve got a feeling we’re wasting each others time. Ten thousand a day plus expenses, or you can get someone else to do it.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter stared at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">There were other agents that he could use, and who would work out a lot cheaper than Clay. But he realized that if anyone could pull this one off, it was Clay. And this assignment was far too vital to be bungled.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Seven thousand a day plus expenses. Not a penny more, not a penny less. And that’s my final offer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Done,” said Clay.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Money, that’s all you ever think about, isn’t it?” said Shooter.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“What else is there to think about?” said Clay, smiling at him. “Money makes the world go round. And where would we be without it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Sometimes I wonder why we pay you so much money,” said Shooter resentfully. We’re wasting hard-earned taxpayers money on you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I’m value for money and you know it,” said Clay with his cheeky smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I can get three good agents for what I’m paying you,” said Shooter. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“That’s three for the price of one. But you’re one of my best guys, and I’ve got a soft spot for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Come off it,” said Clay jokingly. “You haven’t got a soft spot for your own mother, let alone a guy like me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Shooter smiled at him, but this time the smile didn’t reach his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Watch what you say, Clay. You shouldn’t speak about anyone’s mother like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">They regarded each other for a moment, then Shooter continued to talk.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“An advance payment of £70,000 will be paid into you’re account. Spend it wisely. Agent Bond will give you all the necessary details.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Cool,” said Clay, grinning at Shooter. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Money was very essential to him and he never got tired of talking about it. The more money he could lay his hands on, the better.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Has Prince got any other relatives that you know of?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“He’s got a grown up daughter and a grown up son from a previous marriage,” said Hudson. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I hope so,” said Clay, looking down at Laura Prince’s photograph. “He was old enough to be this chick’s father.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“She was his second wife,” said Hudson.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Clay regarded Hudson. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">He had been so busy concentrating on Shooter that there had been times when he had forgotten that Hudson was also in the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Can’t Pretty boy, Hudson handle this job?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I haven’t got your knack with women,” said Hudson, smiling at Clay. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“You’re tailor-made for the job.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Agent Janet Bond smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“And why is Agent Bond smiling?” said Clay teasingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Janet Bond lost her smile and stared at him. There was something about Clay that she didn’t like.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I wasn’t smiling at you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">What a chick, thought Clay giving her his dazzling smile. She reminded him of the girl that he had spent the night with. They both had blonde hair and blue eyes, but Bond was undoubtedly the better looking of the two.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“One of these days, we’ll go for a curry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“I don’t like curries and I don’t like you,” said Janet Bond.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“One of these days, you’re gonna love me,” said Clay teasingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Bond’s eyes flashed angriliy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“One of these days, Clay, I’m gonna…” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">She suddenly stopped without finishing her sentence, aware that Shooter was watching her with interest. She would have loved to have given Clay a piece of her mind. She would have loved to have told him exactly what she thought of him. But she didn’t want to lose her composure in front of her boss.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Enough of that,” said Shooter, sensing it was time that he intervened. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">“Now Agent Bond will give you the details.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB">Special Agent, Janet Bond regained her composure and started to talk in her posh accent.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><span lang="EN-GB">The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><span lang="EN-GB">(The Formula That Could Change The World)<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">Special Agent, Jason Clay from the MI4 is hired to find a secret formula that was invented by the famous British scientist, Malcolm Prince. The only weak element in Clay’s strategy to accomplish his mission is Laura Prince, the beautiful wife of the scientist, who Clay has to seduce in order to obtain the formula. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">But the CIA, the Denmark Intelligence, the Australian Intelligence and many other very determined individuals are also after that formula, and can’t wait to get their hands on it. The competition is fierce, but who’s going to win?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">The story develops as a travel through the world; with the action starting in London, then moving onto Copenhagen, Hong Kong and Australia. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">Clay appears to be the right man for the job; extremely handsome and a natural charmer, nothing could be easier for him than seducing a beautiful woman in order to obtain a top secret. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">For more information visit <a href="http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com/">www.the-mind-of-a-gen<span style="">i</span>us.com</a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt213424812"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><span lang="EN-GB">About the book:<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon<o:p></o:p></span></p> <h2><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">ISBN: 978-0-9552650-1-3 </span></h2> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">Publisher: Pentergen Books<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">Pages: 288<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">S.R.P £6.99/ $13.56<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <h1><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">Available from Waterstone’s,<span style=""> </span>Blackwells, Amazon.co.uk Amazon.com and from the author at his website <a href="http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com/order.html">http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com/order.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></h1> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><span lang="EN-GB">About David Snowdon - <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">British thriller writer, David Snowdon was born in London, and lives in London. He started writing in 1983, and wrote his first book, which hasn’t been published in 1984. His first published work, Too Young To die, was published in August 2006. And his second novel, The Mind of a Genius, was published in November 2007.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">To learn more about David Snowdon and The Mind of a Genius, visit <a href="http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com/">http://www.the-mind-of-a-genius.com</a> and to learn more about his virtual tour in early 2009, <a href="http://virtualblogtour.blogspot.com/2008/12/mind-of-genuis-by-david-snowdon.html">http://virtualblogtour.blogspot.com/2008/12/mind-of-genuis-by-david-snowdon.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size:100%;">Post comments on any of the blog tour stops and be entered in a drawing for a copy of The Mind of a Genius. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-GB"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-76202972281227576772008-12-28T19:04:00.004-05:002008-12-28T19:26:13.625-05:00Starquest by Hywela Lyn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SVgUbKd81VI/AAAAAAAACdw/oY2ICeIiWNU/s1600-h/StarQuest_wrp234_150.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 97px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SVgUbKd81VI/AAAAAAAACdw/oY2ICeIiWNU/s400/StarQuest_wrp234_150.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284996619618276690" border="0" /></a>Starquest<br /><br />Part One - Chapter One<br /><br />The scream of the red alert cut rudely into Jess’s dreams, waking her Instantly. She sprang from her bunk and ordered the computer to shut off the alarm, then pulled on her bodysuit and raced the short distance from her cabin to the flight deck. She flung herself at the control panels. The flickering lights above the main computer console and the figures on the visual output screen demanded immediate attention.<o:p></o:p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 34.8pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 34.8pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Her fingers elicited no response when she ran them rapidly over the tactile command pads. She looked up and addressed the main computer panel.<span style=""> </span>“Jaii, these readings are crazy. We’re way off course and nothing’s working on manual, either. I thought I’d fixed the fault. What’s going on?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 34.8pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 34.8pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 34.8pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The image before her wavered, the familiar features distorted.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 34.8pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Emergency, the J.A.II series computer intoned, with what sounded like a Hint of panic. Serious malfunction of auto navigation array, inertia dampers and control systems, including shrouding device failure. Life support systems severely compromised. All systems currently operating on emergency power. Auto-repair systems unable to<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">reverse degradation. Main drive calculated to reach critical mass in fourteen minutes and nine seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“What? Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 37.65pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Such action would have been pointless. You could have done nothing further. I anticipated that the auto-repair systems would keep the situation under control. When the position became unsustainable, I transmitted an emergency beacon before waking you.</span></i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“What are the chances of the signal being received?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">There is insufficient data to form an accurate prediction.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“A guess would do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The image darkened as if about to fail completely, although a moment later it sputtered grudgingly back to life.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Well, I can’t see help reaching us before the ship blows,” Jess muttered, her voice grim. She had only one course of action available. She was heading in the direction of the<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">emergency airlock and her escape pod when the computer’s voice made her stop and turn back to the flight deck again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">It appears...the signal...has been answered. My sensors indicate a large starship on our trajectory. Available data shows that since it would have been outside the range of our sensors when the beacon was transmitted, it must have attained previously unrecorded speeds to reach us so quickly. We are currently being scanned.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Despite the distortion, combined with the gravity of the situation, Jess had a fleeting sense of<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">something akin to amusement. The computer gave the impression of looking and sounding almost envious as it recited the data relating to the other ship’s size and speed. The strange ship was obviously larger and more powerful than anything previously encountered — and phenomenally fast.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“It would help if our scanners were operational,” Jess said in frustration. Frantically she activated another control, and the titanium shield covering the observation panel slid back.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Well, at least something works.” She gasped at the sight of the starship speeding toward her craft. She took in the long, sleek lines of the main hull with its lethal-looking weapons array. The nacelles on each side gave the appearance of the backward sweeping wings of a gigantic bird of prey. Its graceful double tailfins glowed, radiating a pulsing, golden light. Jess tore her gaze from the panel. Her situation was too critical to muse over the aesthetics of the unknown vessel. She had to leave her ship, and quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Attention</span></i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">, the computer commanded<i style="">. Imperative you eject in the escape vehicle immediately. Repeat, eject immediately. Life support systems are not sustainable. Drive mass will reach critical in eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds. All functions deteriorating. I am no longer able...to...stabilise... </i>The electronic voice slowed and then faded completely, the image dissipating as if it had never existed. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess swallowed, hard. For a long time the ship’s computer had been her only companion. It was<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">almost like losing an old friend. She had no time for such sentiments, <span style=""> </span>though. The emergency lighting flickered ominously. The instrument panels were shorting out and gave off a pungent smell of burning. As she sped toward the airlock, she fancied she heard a voice in her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Listen closely. This is the starship Destiny. You need have no fear of us. Your ship relayed a distress signal, but the communication systems appear to be inoperative. This is the only way we could reach you. Our sensors indicate your drive core is approaching critical mass. You must eject from your ship at once. We will help you on board. You don’t have much time.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">After a moment’s hesitation, wondering if she was imagining it, Jess felt compelled to obey the<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">‘voice’.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Leave your ship immediately and proceed as follows—<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She stopped abruptly, and half turned. “I need to get something from my cabin.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">There is no time. Whatever you have there will be destroyed anyway, as you will be, if you leave it any longer.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Reluctantly Jess agreed. She reached the airlock, boarded the escape pod and ejected from the<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">ship. Guided by the mysterious voice, she skilfully manoeuvred the capsule into a position adjacent to the starship’s hull. Was she heading into a trap? She had no alternative. Her ship was about to selfdestruct and the escape pod was not fast enough for her to outrun the explosion.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The control panel in front of her flashed wildly, a panorama of red telltales. Moments later it died as an unseen force pulled the small vehicle inexorably toward the Destiny.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">There is no need for concern. You are in the grip of our tractor beam. Cut the power to your engines and we will bring you in.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess complied, and after a few moments the module came to an abrupt halt. She realised she hadpassed through the outer hull and was now in what was presumably the starship’s main airlock.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She ran a quick sensor scan, which confirmed conditions on the ship were compatible with human requirements. She raised the hatch with some caution, stepped from the escape pod, and glanced around for signs of danger. The ‘voice’ appeared to have left her. As she<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">approached the inner lock, it opened slowly and she found herself confronted by a man with long, very blond hair, and a calm air of authority. He smiled reassuringly, but she noted the weapon at his hip. Although his stance was not threatening, she remained on her guard.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“I’m Jon Quinlan, commander of the Destiny. You’re among friends,” he said, using the customary Common Universal speech.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Thank you,” she said simply. “I owe you my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Are you all right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She nodded. “Yes...I’m fine. But all my ship’s control and navigation systems failed at the same time.” She hesitated. “There’s no reason why that should have happened. There was a slight<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">navigation fault, but I’d rectified it and checked everything else thoroughly a few hours ago. I don’t understand, unless—”She bit her lip and broke off abruptly. It might be better not to mention the thought that only now occurred to her. He and the rest of the crew — and on<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">a ship this size, presumably there was a crew — were strangers to her. Best keep her notions to herself until she was sure she could trust them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Was it you who contacted me on my ship, Commander?” she queried instead.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">He smiled again. “Call me Jon, we don’t stand on ceremony on this vessel. No, I’m not telepathic. That was one of our crew, Delian. You’ll meet him shortly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">As he escorted her along a narrow corridor, she wondered again if she’d walked into a trap. For the moment, at least, it seemed she had no alternative but to obey her instincts and accept that they had saved her from certain death. Eventually they stepped out of the trans-unit,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">onto what was evidently the main flight deck. She gazed around, trying to take in her new<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">surroundings and the small group of figures ranged around the flight controls, obviously curious to see her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">A vivid white flash lit up the main observation screen. <span style=""> </span>Jess and the others on the flight deck <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">shielded their eyes and looked away for a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><span style=""> </span><i style=""><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><i style="">Destruction of the unidentified spacecraft, as predicted, is confirmed. The Destiny is at a sufficient distance from the explosion to have sustained no structural damage. All systems currently register normal.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The voice was authoritative, female, and, Jess realised, must belong to the Destiny’s main<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">computer. Apparently, in keeping with common practice on well-crewed ships, it was deemed<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">unnecessary to provide holographic imaging to go with the vocal interface.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Thank you, Metisa. It appears we only just brought the capsule on board in time.” The speaker<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">was an imposing man with dark, slightly curling hair and a sombre expression. Seated before a<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">complex control panel, he did not look up.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">At the confirmation of her craft’s destruction, Jess felt a sharp pang of loss, for the second time in the space of a few minutes. She remained silent, uncomfortably aware of the curious stares of the rest of the crew.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Sorry about your ship,” Jon said gently. “I wish we could’ve done something to save her. When we received your distress signal, we ran a computer analysis. The conclusions were obvious. The only option was for you to abandon her before her drive reached critical.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The stern-faced man turned to look at her now. His blue eyes, cool as gunmetal, fixed on her until she felt herself blush under his relentless scrutiny. He smiled slowly, as if unaccustomed to such an action. He was, in fact, very attractive when he smiled. “Welcome aboard.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The commander nodded in his direction. “Let me introduce Kerry Marchant, second-in-command.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Although Jess still could not help feeling a little suspicious, she managed to smile back at him with a degree of confidence she did not feel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“I guess you’d better meet some of the others.” Jon turned to a girl whose cropped hairstyle<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">heightened her dainty, almost impish looks. “Laitha Callahan’s our astro-biologist and ecologist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">A small, neat girl stepped forward, holding out a friendly hand. She appeared to Jess to be barely out of her teens. Despite her rather unprepossessing aspect, she nevertheless radiated a vivaciousness that went beyond physical appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Hi, nice to have another woman on board. You’ll meet Zeldra later on, but she’s a lot older than<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">me and I feel kind of outnumbered here.” She rolled her eyes disparagingly. “No one ever pays me a moment’s attention, that is, unless there’s something unpleasant that needs doing, which no one else wants to attend to.” She chortled loudly, and Jon chuckled. Laitha’s hearty laugh was infectious. Even the solemn second-in-command had a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Jess could not help adding a smile, and felt she might have an ally in the girl.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jon indicated two men who stood by the communication panel, obviously brothers. Almost<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">identical, both with short beards, their pale skin created a sharp contrast to their black hair.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Delian and Ragin,” he informed her, “are from Earth Colony Niflheim. They’re telepathic and<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">telekinetic, like all Nifls.” As the two men smiled in greeting, he continued, “It was Delian who<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">telepathed a message to you so we could get your escape-module on board.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess nodded at the brothers, wondering if she would ever be able to tell them apart.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“You’ll meet the other two members of the crew, Berne and his wife, Zeldra, when we eat, later on. We all try to take our evening meal together.” Jon paused, clearly waiting for her to introduce herself in return.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“I’m Jestine Darnell,” she announced, after a slight hesitation. “I’m usually called Jess. I’m a<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">citizen of Earth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“You are rather a long way from home,” Kerry Marchant remarked archly, “considering how small your ship was.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“She was a Category ‘A’ hyperspeedster.” Jess tossed back her long hair, a hint of pride in her voice as she defended her lost ship. He was right though. She was a long way from Earth. She searched for a plausible explanation. “I’m a...a trader. I was returning from...” she hesitated again, “...from Aquarius Seven.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Was it her imagination, or was there something more than polite interest in Kerry’s voice? She<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">sensed he somehow knew she’d lied about her origins. Why did he not challenge her, then?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“We’re from Earth too,” Jon said. “Originally, I mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Have you heard from Earth lately? How are things there?” she asked. I...I’ve been away a long<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“You’ve not missed much,” the second-in-command commented. “Not a great deal has<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">changed. According to the most recent information, it’s still pretty much the same oppressed ‘trading post’ it always was.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“You don’t care too much for Earth, then?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">His glance was frosty as he replied, “Are you surprised? Any scope for initiative or freedom of<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">thought is stifled by the Union and its tyranny. Its petty laws and restrictions do not conform to my idea of what makes an ideal home planet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“That’s partly why the Destiny was built,” Jon added. “Although she’s basically an exploratory<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">vessel, designed to investigate the far reaches of space, I guess we were all beginning to feel our lives had become dull and meaningless. The ship gave us a chance to escape the domination of the Union, to face new challenges.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess studied him thoughtfully. He seemed genuine enough. She wanted to trust him, but<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">perhaps she should wait a little longer before telling him about Phidia. <span style=""> </span>She could not afford to wait too long, however. Who knew what might be happening there now?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">****<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">After the somewhat cramped conditions of her own craft, Jess found the quarters assigned to her on board the Destiny frankly luxurious. Everything about the great starship fascinated her, and Jon and Kerry showed her many of its mysteries. The basic principles of the sophisticated<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 6.3pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">hyperdrive, which enabled the Destiny to accelerate from standard cruising speed to many times that of light, together with the highly complicated system of time-dilation stabilisation, the bio-neural cell structures and automated flight controls were similar to those on her own ship. They were refined to such a degree, however, as to make her little hyperspeedster seem almost primitive by comparison. “The main source of fresh food for the crew is from here,” Jon told her as he showed her around the vast hydroponics section. Laid out to represent a garden on Earth, avenues of trees bordered banks of shrubs and flowers. Jess marvelled at the diversity of vegetables and fruit, many of them of extraterrestrial origin in exotic shapes and colours. A glorious mixture of scents drifted toward her as she took in the almost overwhelming shapes, colours and textures.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“The computer controlled synthe-units, while capable of producing satisfactory foodstuffs, are<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">mainly for the supply of items of clothing, tools and other articles. I guess most of us prefer our food to be natural.” He paused. “Did you have a hydroponics unit on your own ship?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess nodded. “Yes, although it wasn’t nearly as large and well laid out as this.” She was also impressed by the well-equipped sick bay. Zeldra and Berne Kristiensen, the ship’s medics, took pride in showing her around. It contained some of the most advanced equipment she had ever seen, much of it linked to the computer. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“As you can see, we’re prepared for any exigency,” Zeldra said. Her eyes shone with<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">enthusiasm and her smile dispelled the severe impression she tended to project at first sight.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Metisa’s memory banks contain the knowledge of Earth’s greatest <span style=""> </span>surgeons and physicians. Earth’s greatest. There’s no surgical procedure so complex and dangerous we couldn’t deal with it,” Berne added, grinning broadly. Built like a small mountain, he, too, had seemed a little intimidating when she’d first met him. Still, Jess found it difficult not to feel at ease with someone with such kind eyes, who radiated such easy-going friendliness.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She could not help feeling a certain apprehension, however, when it came to the telepaths, Delian and Ragin. Could they read her thoughts? The feelings of peace and friendship that<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">filled her mind when Delian “spoke” to her telepathically on board her ship had been so strong,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">however, she felt sure she could trust them. Nevertheless, she tried to keep her thoughts on<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">purely routine matters when she was near them. Some things she would rather keep to herself.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><br /><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Do you ever want to go back to Earth?” Laitha asked, as they relaxed by the viewport after their<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">evening meal.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess forced herself to concentrate on what Laitha was asking. Her mind had been on Phidia,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">which was always there, impossible to ignore. “I miss it sometimes,” she confessed, “but I love<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">space and travelling. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Me too,” Laitha agreed. “I’ve no family, no ties, so there’s nothing to keep me there, and I was fed up with the conditions there, like we all were. Jon’s a very distant cousin and <span style=""> </span>my only living relative. When he asked me to join him on the Destiny I was only too glad to get away from Earth.” Before Jess could reply, Laitha went on, “What about your family, were they happy about you choosing space as a career?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Both my parents are dead now,” Jess said, trying to keep the sadness from her voice. “My father<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">was killed when I was a baby, he was lost in a starship accident. Because of that my mother was<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">very much against me training to be a space pilot, but she came around in the end.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Laitha leaned across the table they shared and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I didn’t mean to stir up old memories.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“It’s all right, you didn’t know. My mother died suddenly a year ago, on Earth, and I’ve always<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">regretted not being there with her at the end. We were very close.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“D’you have any other relatives?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Not now. My grandfather lived to a great age, but he died just after I graduated from Orion. I was so glad he lived to see it. He persuaded my mother to let me accept a scholarship and attend the Space Pilots academy in the first place.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Laitha shot her a quick, admiring glance before adding, “So you’re all alone now, like me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess allowed herself the hint of a smile. “I suppose so—but surely you have friends on board this ship?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Yeah, I guess. But no one in particular. What about you, have you any men friends—lovers—<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">stashed away?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Jess laughed aloud at her directness. “No, nothing like that. I had a few boyfriends at Orion, of<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">course, but that’s all they were, friends. There was one...but we were too young, our studies were more important and we drifted apart. There’s been no one since.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Laitha drank deeply from her glass. “Good!” she said with her deep, infectious laugh. “Men are more trouble ‘n they’re worth. We’re better off without ‘em.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Does that include your cousin?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Again, Laitha chortled. “Distant cousin,” she corrected. “Nah, he’s okay, I owe him a fair bit, and he’s a pretty reasonable guy, considering.” Coming from Laitha, this appeared to be high<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -2.25pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">praise and confirmed the conclusion Jess had reached, herself. If there was one person on board the ship in whom she might be able to confide, it was Jon. She knew she would have to tell him the truth soon, though. She’d already been on board the Destiny for several days and time was running out. She might be able to persuade him to help her, even though she no longer had anything with which to bargain. The Phidians trusted her. She owed it to them to try to fulfil her promise...their way of life, their very world might depend on it. She brought her mind back to the present as Laitha drained her glass and, standing, grabbed hold of her arm.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -5.1pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“Come on, let’s go over to the recreation deck and see what computer games Metisa can rustle up for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">****<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -5.1pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -5.1pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Kerry, by contrast to the rest of the crew, was something of an enigma to Jess. She noticed his<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">attitude toward her becoming increasingly cool. Quietly spoken, often taciturn, he was clearly<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">possessed of a brilliant mind. Although slow to volunteer information, if she asked a specific<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">question relating to either the Destiny or Metisa, he became completely involved with the subject, explaining simply but precisely. However, she could not persuade him to talk about himself, which naturally made her all the more curious about him. She frequently felt his scrutiny as if he were <span style=""> </span>waiting for her to give herself away, although she could think of nothing she had said or done to arouse his suspicions. This was not the only thing about Kerry she found disturbing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She was coming to know the ship almost as well as she had known her own vessel. A skilled pilot herself, she was happy to tackle many of the routine operating tasks, plus some of those that were not so routine. Despite his aloofness, she found herself learning a great deal from Kerry. She observed the way he handled the ship, the instructions he gave to the computers. It seemed like second nature to him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">On one occasion, at Jon’s direction, she was perfecting a complicated navigational manoeuvre<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 3.45pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">with the manual controls, under Kerry’s supervision. “She’s a large, powerful ship,” he said, “and needs handling with a delicate touch. Too much pressure and you would lose her.” Jess glanced at him, frowning. Perhaps the ship wasn’t the only thing that needed delicate handling.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">He placed his hands lightly over hers to guide them, and to her embarrassment, she felt her heart thud uncomfortably against her ribs and a blush of colour burn her cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">“This is exactly the position these controls need to be in relation to each other, when the readings here, and here, correspond to the coordinates already set.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 111.75pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">To her relief, he appeared not to notice her unease. For a moment, his eyes met hers. She saw<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">they were no longer expressionless, but alight with the pride and enthusiasm he felt for the ship.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She looked away quickly to concentrate on the data in front of her, forcing herself to ignore the feelings stirring deep within her. She felt privileged that he and Jon allowed her to handle the controls, and determined to make the most of the opportunity to<span style=""> </span>pilot the immense starship, without any distraction. Besides, she had a mission to accomplish. She had enough to worry about; she didn’t need added complications. She thought of the blaster hidden in<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">her cabin. All the crew had free access to the ship’s arsenal, and because there was no one else on board the ship, there was no reason for stringent security. She’d found it relatively easy to take the gun when no one was around, but she knew if its loss was discovered she would have to act very quickly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.6pt;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">NAME OF BOOK;<span style=""> </span>Starquest<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">AUTHOR: HYWELA LYN<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">WEBSITE: <span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.hywelalyn.com/">www.</a></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.hywelalyn.com/"><span id="role_document" style="font-family:Arial;color:#000000;"></span></a><span id="role_document" style="font-family:Arial;color:#000000;"><a target="_blank" href="http://hywelalyn.co.uk/"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1230510310_1">hywelalyn.co.uk</span></a></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">PURCHASE LINK:<span style=""> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.thewildrosepress.com/"><span style="">http://www.thewildrosepress.com</span></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-57481758576915554482008-12-14T20:23:00.001-05:002008-12-14T20:28:55.598-05:00Dancing With Fate by Hywela Lyn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SUWxpwJCo5I/AAAAAAAACZU/1lpyh7DCi1g/s1600-h/DancingWithFate.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SUWxpwJCo5I/AAAAAAAACZU/1lpyh7DCi1g/s400/DancingWithFate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279821469017351058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chapter 1 </span><o:p style="font-weight: bold;"></o:p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mount Olympus—the distant past </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The last notes of the choir died away and on ceasing their song, the nine beautiful sisters made the slightest of curtsies to their leader. Apollo smiled in approval and the marble hall, with its gleaming pillars of white and gold, glowed in his radiance. When they turned to leave, he called to the one who played the lyre. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"Terpsichore—I would have a word with you." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">The muse turned and glided back to where the God of Light sat in splendour. He held his tripod in one hand and his bow hung over his shoulder. His own lyre or kithara lay on his knee. The brightness that emanated from him was such it almost dazzled even a muse such as herself.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">However, she met the brilliance of his eyes with pride, and lost none of her self-confidence. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Clasping her delicately carved instrument, she stood before him and nodded at his raven perched nearby. She inclined her head to one side, a question in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"First, I would have you dance for me. You know how I love to see you dance." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Even if he had not been the Musagetes, leader of all the Muses, and her half brother, Terpsichore could still not have declined to grant his request. Golden hair, curling down nearly to his shoulders, framed his dazzling, almost frighteningly handsome features, crowned with a wreath of laurel leaves. His eyes, brown in some lights, gold in others, had a mesmerising quality.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">His masculine physique was sheer perfection. Little wonder every goddess he looked upon with<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">desire, instantly yielded to him even without the assistance of Dionysus' enchanted wine. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo nodded to her to begin. Raising her hands in the air, like a bird flexing its wings, Terpsichore drew music from her lyre with the plectrum. The notes rose and surrounded her like a magical veil of sound. Languidly, she moved in time to the music, allowing the silken folds of her long white garment to flow around her like soft ripples in a becalmed sea. She swivelled her hips faster. Leaning backward, she placed the lyre against a pillar entwined with vines of gold, in a fluid movement that was part of her dance. With a toss of her head, she swung her long hair, braided with flowers and ribbons, over one shoulder. Her arms above her head, her hands moved with the grace of a gentle breeze bending the grass. <span style=""> </span>As always when she danced, Terpsichore lost herself in the rhythm. She hardly noticed when Apollo picked up his kithara and accompanied her singing. Her bare feet felt as though they no longer touched the ground as they performed the complex sequence of steps in time to her song and the swirling of her hips. It almost seemed as if time stood still and there was nothing but the magick of her dance. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Faster and faster she whirled, euphoric with the delight of doing what she loved best before someone who showed true appreciation. Then once more she slowed the rhythm and the dance became languorous, eminently sensual. The remnants of her song faded and lingered for <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">a moment in the crystal air. Terpsichore spread her arms in abeyance, then clasped her fingers in front of her, and stood for a moment in silence. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo slowly lowered his instrument and clapped his hands, smiling and indicating she should sit beside him. She bent to retrieve her lyre, before seating herself and gazed at him, trying to hide her curiosity. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"You wish something further of me, my brother?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">For a long moment, Apollo seemed deep in thought and did not answer. "Do you remember a land of mortals—a small country known as Cymru, the brotherhood, erstwhile called Cambria, or Wales as some would have it? You may recall the folk who inhabit it, who call themselves the Keltoi. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Ah, the Celts. How could she forget them? "I do. They were a fierce and noble race, with <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">much knowledge of magick and the hidden arts. They respected the faeries and mages of their land. She smiled at the memory. "I inspired them with music and dancing which they embraced readily. I believe in times to come they will be famed for their love of melody, and the grace with which they express it in their dance." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">A slight crease appeared on Apollo's brow, normally as smooth and clear as the polished black marble of the great throne of Zeus. "Only if you return to impart these skills once more; much has been lost in their skirmishes and fighting to protect their land. A great melancholy has come upon them. I need you to return and inspire them to dance again." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Terpsichore sighed, a little, soft sigh that echoed through the hall like the singing of the breeze in <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">summer leaves. "My lord—Apollo—I had not thought to return to the lands of mortals—not for a few hundred years, anyway. Is it truly necessary?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo's expression grew severe. A small frown played above his eyes and his face darkened slightly, like the sun going behind a cloud. "Indeed it is, Terpsichore. As the Muse of Dance, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">it is your duty." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Terpsichore swallowed the sharp retort that rose in her throat. Duty indeed, how dare he suggest she was neglectful of her duty? Even if he was the magnificent Apollo, she would not be patronised. "Have I not already done my duty? Did I not travel to every corner of the world and inspire men and women to dance and rejoice? Have I not made the journey whenever a mortal has been in need of my gift of inspiration, and gladdened the hearts of mankind? Can I be blamed if some prefer to fight and wage war and then forget the joys of living?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo's countenance grew even grimmer. "So many questions. No, 'tis not your doing—but would you refuse the task?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Terpsichore sighed and shook her head. "Of course not. You know well that neither I nor my sister muses may deny our vocation. The need to inspire cannot be ignored." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo curved his lips in a smile, once more, and light radiated from his face, illuminating the shadows around him. "It is well; you will need to use subtlety, though. Times have changed since you were last there. It would be better for you to take the form of a mortal." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"What—give up my immortality?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"No, not give it up. I doubt Zeus would allow that, nor would you want it from the expression on <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">your face. No, Zeus and I have discussed the matter and feel you should pretend to be mortal for a while. Mingle with the people, bestow on them the enthusiasm to dance again." He paused. "Of course you will not be able to use any of your powers..." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She drew in her breath, unable to hide her dismay. That could present a problem. She was not used to being without her magick. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo seemed to read her thoughts. "At least," he went on, "not before mortals, or in a way it could be discerned. You must not allow your inner psyche to glow when you are among them. Know also, that your powers may wane and you may not be able to get inside their minds or use the gift of foretelling." He looked even more serious. "If you have a problem, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">I may not be able to help you." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Oh wonderful, although perhaps my being allowed some freedom might not be a bad thing</span></i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">. She gave him a knowing smile. "I suppose I'll manage. I may need to act the helpless female, but in reality I have a few tricks that may serve me well." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo frowned again. "Take care not to get careless and reveal who you really are. The men of Cymru may not be as awestruck by a goddess as they once were. It could be risky. You would not want to be branded as a witch or an enchantress." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"You think I may be in danger?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo's frown deepened and his face registered concern. <span style=""> </span>"No, sweet Terpsichore, I would not send you if I thought you might come to harm." He paused. "You will need a name to be known by." He thought for a moment. "Cora. You will be called Cora. A name like enough to those of the common people." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Terpsichore nodded. She liked the sound of it, and it carried enough of her true name not to sound alien to her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"Now go, prepare yourself, spend time in the Halls of Learning and familiarise yourself with the changes that have occurred since you last visited the land of Wales. Then bid your dear sisters farewell, before you take your leave of your mother and myself. Zeus will facilitate your departure and instruct the Horai to allow you passage through the gates of Olympus." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Terpsichore turned and clutched her lyre to her. "I am to leave soon?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"Why not? There is no reason to delay." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">"No, of course not." A sudden thought struck her. "If I have to act as a mortal, how will I travel? On the grand scale of things, Wales may not be a large country, but it is mountainous and as I remember, not the easiest of terrain. It might be difficult to dance if I am footsore." A vision flashed into her mind: a beautiful winged horse, the color of the snow of the highest peak of Olympus. "Perhaps, I could have Pegasus?" she asked hopefully, although truly she knew the answer before he gave it. She'd always enjoyed riding Pegasus on the rare occasions her father felt disposed to allow it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Apollo's eyes darkened for a moment, then the corners of his mouth turned up and he smiled once more. "A winged horse might give away the fact that you are not mortal, don't you think? Also, Zeus might be unwilling to loan his favorite steed, even to one of his beloved daughters. Worry not. Take care to materialise outside settlements so as not to be seen by mortals. Should you need it, appropriate transport will be arranged and you will not be disappointed." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">A wave of his hand indicated the discussion was closed. With a little sigh, Terpsichore left her seat by his throne. When would she see the magnificent Olympus, her home, again? She would miss it. There again, now she'd had time to think upon it, perhaps she should look forward to the task Apollo and her father had set her. What was Apollo keeping hidden though? She <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">could always tell when he was holding something back. What had he not told her? Still, he would surely have her best interests at heart. No doubt, he would reveal it when he judged the time to be right. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">She left the Hall through one of the rear doors. Was it her imagination or did she hear the <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">sound of footsteps? Like someone scurrying away down a side corridor. She glanced around and narrowed her eyes as she saw what looked like a tall figure slip into the shadows, but she could not be sure. It might just be a trick of the light. Had she imagined the dark form, the glint of <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">torchlight on metal, gold or perhaps brass? Could someone have been eavesdropping on her conversation with Apollo? She hurried on silent feet to where she saw the figure disappear, but there was nothing. Nothing except a prickling at the back of her neck and the uncomfortable feeling she had not been mistaken.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">Website; <a href="http://www.hywelalyn.com">www.hywelalyn.com</a><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB">PURCHASE LINK:<span style=""> <a href="http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=909&amp;zenid=ad0c1ac16b23d21bd5c086ee2c2a00b9"> </a></span></span><a href="http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=909&amp;zenid=ad0c1ac16b23d21bd5c086ee2c2a00b9"><span lang="EN-GB">http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&amp;products_id=909&amp;zenid=ad0c1ac16b23d21bd5c086ee2c2a00b9</span></a><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-79680880267441346262008-10-16T20:29:00.000-04:002008-10-16T20:33:03.996-04:00Kindred Spirits by Marilyn Meredith<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SPfdNfyrvbI/AAAAAAAACMs/FKftEBTzkb4/s1600-h/kindredspirits.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; FLOAT: left; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257914313920462258" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SPfdNfyrvbI/AAAAAAAACMs/FKftEBTzkb4/s320/kindredspirits.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Chapter One<br /><br />Before Deputy Tempe Crabtree could see evidence of the forest fire, she could smell it. Smoke was heavy in the air and got thicker as she drove up the highway into the mountains.<br /><br />Monday was one of her days off, but when something happened in her jurisdiction she was often the first responder. Her instructions from the sheriff’s sub-station in Dennison were to make sure everyone who lived in the path of the fire started in the higher elevations of Bear Creek canyon had obeyed evacuation orders.<br /><br />As resident deputy of the large but sparsely populated area around the mountain community of Bear Creek, Tempe ’s job usually consisted of making traffic stops, arresting drunk drivers, solving problems among neighbors, and looking for lost children or cattle. Along with the highway patrol, Tempe was the law in the community located in the southern Sierra where the foothills turned into mountains.<br /><br />The last estimate Tempe had heard about the fast moving fire in rugged country was that it covered more than 1100 acres.<br /><br />She was stopped at the staging area by a highway patrolman she knew by sight though couldn’t remember his name.<br /><br />Though his uniform still had sharp creases, large circles of dampness crept from his underarms. Opaque sunglasses covered his eyes. He put both hands on the open window of her Blazer as he bent down to speak to her. “Where’re you headed, Deputy?”<br /><br />“My orders are to check out some of the houses in the path of the fire. Make sure everyone’s out.”<br /><br />"Be careful you don’t put yourself in danger. It’s one fast-moving fire. It’s in a rough area where they haven’t been able to get in any personnel yet. They’re doing lots of water drops. All the roads are closed from here on up.”<br /><br />“Thanks for the warning. I know some of the folks who might not have received the word yet.”<br /><br />Tempe drove by the private airstrip that had been taken over as the fire command post. Men and equipment, fire engines, water tenders and bulldozers were being dispatched from there as well as truckloads of hand crews.<br /><br />Leaving her window down, Tempe drove around the traffic cones that temporarily blocked access to the road. She planned to stop at the Donaldsons’, but they were loading horses into a trailer, obviously on their way out.<br /><br />The higher she drove on the winding road, the darker the sky, the thicker the smoke, the harder it was to breathe. Ashes showered on her white Blazer. She passed fire trucks and men heading upward to fight the fire.<br /><br />In her heart she was thankful her son, Blair, was already back on the coast for his last year in college or he’d be on the fire lines. Fighting fire had been his first love since the age of sixteen when he began hanging around Bear Creek’s fire station.<br /><br />Tempe stopped at several homes hidden down winding trails or perched on hilltops, surrounded by pine and cedar trees and underbrush. Most homes were deserted with signs of hurried evacuation.<br /><br />Loaded pick-up trucks drove down the hill, some pulling horse or cattle trailers, not getting out any too soon from the looks of the black sky and the large amount of falling ash.<br /><br />She had one more place she wanted to check. A beautiful home and separate studio built of sugar pine stood atop a knoll surrounded by Chaparral, and a thick pine forest. Tempe had been there once on a domestic abuse call. The owner, a well-known artist, Vanessa Ainsworth, now lived alone since her boy-friend had been served with a restraining order. If Vanessa wasn’t gone already, Tempe hoped to help her collect her animals and paintings and carry some of them out for her.<br /><br />When Tempe made the last turn before Vanessa’s she was halted by a horrifying sight.<br /><br />Available September 1, 2008 from <a href="http://www.mundaniapress.com/">http://www.mundaniapress.com/</a><br /><br />See what's new at: <a href="http://fictionforyou.com/">http://fictionforyou.com/</a><br />NEW! Visit my blog at <a href="http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com/">http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com/</a><br />and the Stiletto Gang: <a href="http://thestilettogang.blogspot.com/">http://thestilettogang.blogspot.com/</a></div>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-20239601734616192332008-09-13T17:29:00.001-04:002008-12-11T17:20:28.309-05:00Forgotten by Chelle CorderoTitle: <span style=""> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" >Forgotten</span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Author Name: </span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:14;" ><span style="font-size:100%;">Chelle Cordero</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><u>Prologue through Chapter One<o:p></o:p></u> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Prologue<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He felt his muscles clench as he stared into the woman’s face that lay beneath him. If he hadn’t already felt her trembling, he would have known she reached her own climax just by the expression of her face. With one more powerful thrust he felt everything he had spilling into her, he felt a completeness he would have never thought possible. Everything stopped and then he swore he felt their hearts start beating again as one. Pausing a moment to look into her eyes, and they were beautiful eyes he thought, he brushed a long strand of chestnut hair away from her face and kissed her. Then he rolled off of her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I love you.” Her voice was soft, like the touch of her lips. He couldn’t believe the tingling he felt in his loins at hearing her words.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You’re not even human...”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“What?” She almost laughed at his choice of words.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He hadn’t even meant to say that thought out loud. “I mean... I just never felt so... consumed before. I feel like I am under some kind of spell.” As he sat up to face her, he was surprised by the life he felt in his groin. Feeling a touch embarrassed, which was a new feeling for him, he admitted, “I almost feel like I can go another round, and considering how powerful that was...”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She faced him and gave him a sultry smile; her bare breasts were firm and small. But not too small, he thought, just enough to fill his hands. He felt his groin tighten again and just stared.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Hey, are you okay?” She suddenly sounded self-conscious.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Uh, yeah.” He forced himself to look at her face.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She touched his arm, her fingers felt light like feathers. “Can I do anything for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Yes.” He glanced at her breasts again and then back at her face. “Tell me... who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She laughed, it was a full-bodied sound. “Just one day married and...” She saw the surprise in his eyes as he looked at his left hand and saw the ring. Pulling the bed sheet up to cover her nakedness, she looked at him puzzled. “You’re serious?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He frowned. “Fraid so.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Chapter One<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Was your last name really Smythe?” He looked from the marriage certificate to her and back again. He wondered if maybe she had checked into the hotel with him under an assumed name. After all, weren’t variations of the name Smith often used to hide one’s identity?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Yes.” She sounded a bit defensive. She had pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and he thought it made her look incredibly young. Almost a little too young for his comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Hey look... Caitlyn,” he had to glance at the certificate again for her name. “All I know is the first thing I remember about you is that I woke up having really incredible sex with you this morning.” He certainly did remember the fantastic sex and how it much he enjoyed it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I thought we were making love.” Her lip barely trembled.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He sighed. “It was wonderful, really. Look, I don’t mean to hurt you, but I don’t remember anything else.” Brandon, that was the name on the marriage license, stood. He felt frustrated. “I don’t know who you are, or me, except for these names on this paper. I don’t know why we’re here. I don’t remember these clothes I’m wearing. You told me that I drink my coffee black, I don’t remember that.” He knelt beside her and felt bad because she looked almost ready to cry. “I’m sorry. Really I am.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She was a pretty girl, he thought. It was easy to see how she would have caught his eye. Her dark chestnut hair framed a nearly perfect oval face. Her eyes were bright and her lips invited kisses. Her slender body and its womanly curves invited much more than just kisses. He felt that now familiar stirring in his groin as he studied her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >When she realized he really didn’t remember anything, Caitlyn had been remarkably calm. She had gotten out of bed protectively wrapping the sheet around her, got clothes from a suitcase and went into the bathroom to get dressed. She had politely asked him to please get dressed and told him that the other suitcase was his. When she came out of the bathroom, neatly dressed in black slacks and a short sleeved pink blouse, she made a call to room service and had coffee, tea and some breakfast Danish sent up. While they waited, she showed him the marriage license, her wallet with her driver’s ID and photos of the two of them. Even without his memory, he had to admit that they looked right together. She suggested that he check his own wallet as well. At least now he knew his name, birth date and where he lived.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >After the bellboy wheeled the cart into the room, he gave Brandon the receipt to sign. When he hesitated, Caitlyn took it and signed. Her scrawled signature read Caitlyn Price. Motioning with her hands, she suggested that Brandon offer the bellboy a tip. He placed a few bills in the young man’s hand. She reassured him he could afford it. Closing the door behind the bellboy, Caitlyn walked back to the cart with the coffee and teapot and the Danish tray. She poured him a cup of hot coffee from the pot and put two spoons of sugar in it, then stirred. Brandon sat in an armchair next to a small round occasional table. She selected cherry Danish from the plate of baked goods and served it to him on a china plate. After pouring herself a cup of herbal tea, she sat in the opposite armchair facing him. She didn’t take any baked goods for herself. Brandon heard her tea cup rattle for just a moment. It was then that he first noticed that she was holding back tears, but he had no idea what he could do to comfort her or even if he should try.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She looked at him and sighed before putting her teacup and saucer onto the table. “We got married last night. You thought it would be romantic to do it in Vegas.” Caitlyn twisted the small diamond ring she wore next to a simple gold band. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost two years and a few months ago you asked me if I would consider marrying you. We didn’t make it official, but a few days ago, on my birthday, you showed up at my door with this ring and asked me to come with you to Vegas. I said yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She held her left hand out towards him so he could see the ring. He was tempted to take her slender fingers in his hand and caress them. The ring she wore was delicate, just like its owner he thought, and the stone was cut in a pear shape. The diamond was small, he thought, and yet she seemed to wear it proudly. Couldn’t he have done better than a tiny diamond? Her gold band matched the one he was wearing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He really tried, but he couldn’t remember anything. “What about our families? Did we call them? Didn’t your parents want to see you married?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She looked surprised at his question and then shrugged. “My parents are dead, they have been since I was twelve. I was an only child.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I’m sorry.” He was sincere about that. “What about... do I have any family?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Your father is alive, but you’ve been angry at him and haven’t spoken to him, I don’t know why. As far as I know, you haven’t seen him since before you moved to New York. I don’t think you have any brothers or sisters, but I don’t know because you really haven’t wanted to talk to me about your family. You haven’t really talked much about yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Brandon looked at his driver’s license again. Price, Brandon Price. He was twenty-seven years old according to his license. “Where did I grow up?” Maybe he should look up his family...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You told me it was outside of Chicago, but you never wanted to talk about it. You were always kind of quiet about your childhood.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Didn’t that bother you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“It did. It does. That’s one of the few things we’ve always argued about.” Caitlyn knew how much she wished her folks were alive, but a drunken driver destroyed that possibility years ago. She couldn’t understand how Brandon could ignore a living parent. “But it also became one of those things we agreed to disagree on. You had just made it clear that the topic was off-limits.” She shrugged as if she had given up.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He looked through the rest of his wallet and saw that he had both cash and credit cards. “I assume I have a job. I hope so, especially if I can afford this.” While he apparently hadn’t gone so far as to reserve a suite, the room was certainly well appointed. The king size bed was definitely comfortable, and memorable. He glanced at the woman sitting quietly sipping her tea. She had seen his glance at the bed and the slight flush in her cheeks told him she was remembering the passion they had shared as well. “I didn’t see any business cards in my wallet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You’re an IT consultant. I think you carry some cards in your jacket pocket, your suit jacket, it’s hanging in the wardrobe closet.” He hadn’t thought to look in the armoire when he chose clothes to put on; he had taken a pair of khaki trousers and a dark blue shirt from the suitcase. “I’m sure you brought some cards because you originally planned this trip for business. You have some kind of an appointment later today.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“With who?” He went to the closet and found a suit bag hanging there.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You didn’t tell me.” She paused. “You don’t talk much about your business either.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Brandon found a packet of business cards, all they had on them was his name, the words Information Technology Consultant and a New York City phone number. He looked at her suspiciously, “I’m secretive about my family and I’m secretive about my job... How well do you really know me?” He couldn’t have sounded more accusatory.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Caitlyn looked hurt. “Obviously not well enough.” She looked like she was mulling over her next words. Finally she blurted them out. “How can you not remember me?” She sounded frustrated. A lone tear finally rolled down a cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I can’t remember anything, damn it!” He slammed the wardrobe closet door shut. “Who the hell am I? And who are you?” He strode across the room to look out the window at the Vegas strip. “Right now, I can’t remember anything. I am relying on you to tell me everything and something tells me I am not the kind of man that relies on someone else very easily.” Even the circus-like lights outside the window looked foreign to him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >After a few moments of silence, he heard her soft voice. “I think maybe, then, that you are remembering something about yourself. You’ve never liked asking for help.” He never even heard her move and yet she was suddenly behind him. Her voice was quiet and reassuring. “I think you do some kind of work with government contracts, something with computers, but you don’t talk about it. Not to me anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He took a moment to calm the nervous churning in his stomach before he turned to face her. “Do you know if I work with anyone else? Maybe someone else can fill me in on some part of my life.” He was willing to grasp at anything to escape the feeling of emptiness he had. He had even had to compare the face he saw in the mirror to the face on the driver’s license she showed him to realize it was really him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You have a secretary.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I do?” He sounded anxious and slightly relieved. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Her name is Amanda.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up when he heard that name. “Amanda?” Although it was an overall uncomfortable feeling, the name Amanda evoked a strange reaction somewhere deep inside. “Uh, I hate to ask this but, well, is my relationship with her only professional?” Could something else be going on, something that raised the back hairs of his neck?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“It had better be.” She wasn’t joking. “Why don’t you call her? That’s your office number on the card. If she’s not there, you can leave a message and ask her to call you back.” Caitlyn motioned him to the phone. “I’m sure that you’ve shared some facts with her she probably needed for your business,” she added a little testily.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He called and left a message on his office voice mail. A woman’s voice greeted him in a recorded message. Somehow he recognized that it was Amanda’s voice. He remembered her voice, but how could that be when he couldn’t remember anything else? Caitlyn scribbled the hotel and room number for him on a paper napkin so he could leave it in the message. He finished his message and kept the phone to his ear through the rest of the recorded options. Wondering if his message sounded urgent enough, he thought about re-recording his message and then decided to let it stay as it was. He hung up the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I guess now I just wait.” He sat back down at the breakfast tray and resigned himself to the uncertainty. “How did we meet? Please, tell me everything through last night.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You know, I am really worried about you...” She came back to stand next to him. “Maybe you should go to the hospital? I don’t understand why you lost your memory?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“No. I’m not going to leave this room until I figure out some things about myself.” The sights and sounds of whatever lay beyond the walls of the room nearly frightened him. There would be more people, more strangers, and more unknown routes to deal with. He felt safer staying put. He felt safe with this girl. Even though he still couldn’t remember her, he felt safe.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“But sweetheart, something is wrong...” She seemed to understand his reluctance to face more things he wasn’t familiar with. “I would go with you. I could keep telling you things I know about you, things you might even remember. I wouldn’t let you be alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I said no.” He hadn’t really yelled, but Caitlyn stopped short. “I don’t know what’s happened to me and right now, I just need to find out about myself. Please, talk to me.” He felt completely helpless. He was afraid of facing a bigger unknown world and getting permanently lost.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Caitlyn sighed and sat in the armchair facing him. He studied her as she spoke. He watched the way her lips moved, the expressions she made with her face. Nothing looked familiar. “We met at a college career day almost two years ago.” She saw his puzzled expression. “I’m an art student at a school in New York City, I was looking for a job. I had just moved to the city from upstate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He listened to every word and felt frustrated that he remembered none of it. “Did I hire you?” He toyed with the golden fabric covering the table. The room was decorated in golden earth tones. A watercolor of a lonely desert scene hung on the wall; it reminded him of how lost he felt. He wondered if that was the kind of art that Caitlyn studied.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She chuckled. “You weren’t looking for an artist, at least not a graphic artist.” He tried to imagine what she apparently meant by her pun on words, but gave up. “But you kind of monopolized my attention and before the day was over, you asked me to join you for dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Did you accept?” He wondered what kind of man he was and if dinner had been his only invitation. She was a beautiful young woman and surely he must have been interested in more from her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I’m an art student... a starving artist. You offered a meal, I accepted.” He struggled to remember and then shrugged when he couldn’t. “You called me a few days later, just to talk, and then a few days after that you asked me out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He remembered that her license said she had just turned twenty-one. She looked so very young. “Last night... you said we got married?” Brandon looked again at the ring on his finger. Surprisingly, he felt very comfortable wearing it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She looked into her lap. “We had spoken a few times about marriage, but we never set any dates or anything...”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Why not?” Could he have been toying with her?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I’m a student with a poorly paying job. I barely make ends meet. The first time we spoke about marriage, I told you I needed to wait, to become more self-sufficient. You made the offer to pay for my school and said I wouldn’t even have to work. You kind of reminded me that you made a comfortable wage and could afford to let me do whatever I wanted.” She grimaced. “I don’t know, it actually sounded kind of insulting. It was like you didn’t take me seriously. I accused you of trying to buy me and it’s been a touchy subject since.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“What made you change your mind now?” He looked at her stomach. “Are you pregnant or something?” He felt a nervous pang that he might be about to become a father.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“No.” She shook her head. That would be something he’d think of, she mused.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He looked straight at her and again thought of how young she looked. “Uh, this wasn’t our first time together, was it?” Hell, what if she had been a virgin and he didn’t even remember it!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She smiled shyly. “No, far from it. We’ve been lovers for a while now, although... you were my first.” She let him absorb that information. “You were so spontaneous, you just showed up at my door with a ring and plane tickets. It... it was just romantic.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He struggled for something to say, but just like his memory, nothing came. Knowing how sweet it had been to wake up in her arms that morning, to be making love with her, he wished he could remember the first time that they were together. He hoped he had been gentle.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“The Good Reverend Elvis Presley Cosby married us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He pictured the legendary rock and roll singer. He imagined the theatrical production that must have been. He laughed. “You’re kidding!” Although it was a fuzzy memory, at least he knew who Elvis Presley had been.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“No, I’m quite serious. Afterwards we went out to dinner and celebrated. You had quite a bit to drink...”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I got drunk?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She half nodded. “Not drunk but definitely... uh, you were definitely high.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“After the ceremony?” He stressed the word after.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Yes. You were fully aware of what you were doing when you said I do. You can’t use the excuse that you weren’t in your right mind when we got married. You had been very sure that you wanted it. I admit it didn’t take that much convincing, but you took the time to talk me into it when you showed up at my apartment with the ring.” She paused. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I’m sorry. I wasn’t accusing you of tricking me into this.” How could he be sure of that without his memory? But he was sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >It showed that she was relieved he believed her. “I had never known you to drink so much that you lost control and I was really surprised when you insisted on having a drink before dinner last night, especially since you had that business appointment today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Uh, my drinking, did it affect my, you know, performance?” It was embarrassing, but he didn’t even know what kind of lover he was.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She found it ironic that he was so worried about his virility. “You were fine in that department.” She blushed. “But maybe, just maybe you should be more worried that maybe the alcohol made you lose your memory?” Her body still tingled from his “performance” through the night.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“What did I order?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Before dinner, you ordered a scotch on the rocks...”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I drink scotch?” A good strong whiskey... It was the kind of drink for a strong man with strong ties, a capable person. He was trying to get an image of himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“That and other stuff.” Caitlyn was remembering what else he ordered. “There was wine with dinner and a martini in the casino.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I was mixing drinks... and it got to me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She picked up the china cup with the rest of her now cold tea and drank it slowly. “We were in the casino. You wanted to play at the tables. That’s when you got paged to the hotel phone. You really sobered up quickly, you looked a little worried. You handed me your chips and some money, told me to play some slots or something and went to take the call. You were gone over half an hour...”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Who called me?” Who was so important that he would he have left his new wife on their wedding night? The call must have been very important. And why would he be worried?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Caitlyn shrugged. “You didn’t say. When you came back, you rushed me up to the room. You said you had a headache from drinking, those were your words.” She frowned. “When we got up here, I offered you aspirin for your headache and you said you didn’t need it. You said the headache wasn’t really all that bad anyway. Then you laughed. It was strange; I didn’t know what you found so funny. You said you just wanted to make love. We did and then we fell asleep. You woke me this morning and said you wanted to be with me again... well, that’s where we are now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I had a headache?” He didn’t feel hung over, not that he remembered ever feeling that way before. It just didn’t feel like he was suffering the effects of a hangover.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“That’s why I think you should get checked out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“But I didn’t want any aspirin? So it couldn’t have been that bad.” Maybe it was just an excuse to finally take his lovely bride up to their room.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I watched a TV show once where this guy took sick and didn’t even realize it...” Caitlyn pulled her chair to sit directly in front of him. “Look at me.” She stared at his eyes, they looked okay to her and she nodded. “Squeeze my hands...” She took hold of both of his hands and rested them on her knees. He squeezed both of her hands firmly. “You seem to be okay. I guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He wondered what had happened to him. He knew that she was checking for signs of a stroke and yet he didn’t understand how he realized that. She was looking for an explanation for why he couldn’t remember anything. He really felt fine except that he had no idea who he was or how he got there. There was nothing wrong with him that a little relaxation wouldn’t take care of. Maybe a massage or even another tumble in the bed with this woman... the thought of making love with her again was tempting.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The phone rang and he practically lunged for it. “Hello?... Yes... Amanda thanks for calling me back.” Her voice definitely resonated in his memory. He listened for a few moments. “No, I... forgot. Actually Amanda, I don’t remember anything... no, nothing.” And the few random memories he had gave him no indication of who he was.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He turned his back to Caitlyn and lowered his voice. “No, I’m not alone... I’m here with Caitlyn, uh, Caitlyn Smythe.” He quickly glanced at her to see if she had heard him say her maiden name, she had. Oh well, he thought, I don’t remember any marriage anyway. He looked away. “What?” Stealing another look at Caitlyn while he listened, Brandon managed to move a little further away. He listened for a few minutes, nodding and grunting every so often. When he hung up, he stared suspiciously at Caitlyn.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“What’s the matter?” His stare discomfited her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Is your name really Caitlyn Smythe?” He wasn’t sure if he should believe her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She smiled. “Actually it’s Caitlyn Price now.” He remained quiet. “Brandon? What’s wrong? What did Amanda say?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Why are you worried what Amanda had to say?” He was beginning to sound as paranoid as he felt. “Do you have something to worry about?” How much of what she told him was true, if any of it was? He had begun to believe her, anything and everything she had told him, and it angered him that he now had reason to question her honesty.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“She barely knows me, what would she have to say?” Caitlyn was exasperated. “Brandon, what did Amanda say to you? What do you think I’m hiding?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He wanted to trust the woman in front of him, he really did. He could understand why he liked her even if he had no memory of her. Her gentleness and supposed naivety had lured him into a feeling of safety. He said he had felt like he was under a spell during their lovemaking, maybe she was some kind of pro and he wasn’t thinking with the right brain. That other woman, Amanda, her voice was so familiar, how could he not trust her? He knew that he remembered Amanda. He didn’t know anything about Caitlyn before waking up this morning. And if he knew and trusted Amanda... then he couldn’t trust Caitlyn no matter what.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He paced in silence for a few minutes. Amanda had given him some information and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Whether it was because Caitlyn was good in bed, he thought crudely, or because there was something more there, he decided to warn her. “Amanda is faxing some information to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police. She expects that they’ll be here shortly to take you into custody.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Why?” She sounded totally dumbfounded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You’ve got a record. You’ve got a string of aliases...” He knelt in front of her. He was sure he had done the right thing to warn her. “Caitlyn, if you leave now, you’ll get away. I wasn’t supposed to warn you but I don’t want to see you arrested.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I haven’t done anything...” Her protest sounded genuine and it twisted his gut to think otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Caitlyn, she has proof.” He thought for a moment and then stood to take his wallet out of his back pocket. “I don’t know how much money I have in here, but,” he pulled a wad of bills out and handed them to her. “You should be able to get somewhere with this. Go, go now while there is still time. I don’t know how far you can get but you have to get away from here.” He put the money into her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She dropped the money on the floor. “I’m not going anywhere, I haven’t done anything illegal. Why would someone want to arrest me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He watched several bills float down to the carpet. “Damn it Caitlyn, I’m trying to help you!” Why didn’t she just take the damn money and get the hell out of there?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “What did she tell you I did?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He frowned. It was hard for him to make the accusation. “You are an artist all right... a con artist. Caitlyn, she said you stole from me, and you stole from some other people. And they want to press charges. I’m not but they are.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“You believe this?” She sounded so hurt, so wounded, and all he wanted to do was protect her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He was consumed by guilt that he questioned her. “Come on, let’s get out of here...” He tried to take her arm and push her towards the door. She pulled herself out of his grasp.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“No!” The tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you loved me. You married me! How could you believe I would steal from you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >He took her by both arms and shook her. “I don’t remember you!” Brandon stared in disbelief as he saw apparent fear in her eyes. He dropped his hands from her arms suddenly. “I’m sorry.” He took a few steps back and spoke in hushed tones. “I know that it felt right to have you in my arms this morning, it felt good to be so close to you, but I don’t know you. But Amanda’s voice, I remembered that, I know her voice... and her name. I know Amanda. I have to trust her.” His explanation lacked conviction.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >There was a firm knock at the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Go hide, I’ll tell them you left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Another knock. A single man’s voice called through the closed door. “Hotel security.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“Please Caitlyn...” He motioned for her to hide.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“No.” She stood where she was. “I haven’t done anything.” She sounded almost convincing to his ears, But he worried that she wouldn’t be as convincing to the police.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She stood there defiantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >After a few more knocks at the door, Brandon answered it. Caitlyn stood silently. Two Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Officers entered with the hotel detective.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The hotel detective stood back while the two police officers asked Caitlyn a few inane questions to confirm who she was. One of the police officers frisked her and nodded in satisfaction when he didn’t find anything of danger.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Caitlyn looked confused and scared.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >The second officer had a copy of a forged check and a New York City Police report with Caitlyn’s picture on it. He read a list of charges out loud which included theft, embezzlement, forgery and passing bad checks. Her rights were read to her. They called her Mary Jones. The name under the picture on the NYPD report was Mary Jones.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >She went to reach for her purse claiming she had plenty of identification to show them. One of the officers caught her wrist and cuffed her. He twisted her arms painfully behind her and cuffed the other wrist.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“My roommate... she’s traveling in Africa right now, but I’m sure we can track her down.” Caitlyn winced as the cuff tightened from her struggling. “Keisha can vouch for who I am.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >One of the officers mocked her. “Keisha?” He looked towards his partner. “Doesn’t even sound American to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >“I have family in upstate New York...” Despite her protests, Caitlyn was led from the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Brandon couldn’t stand the tears he had seen on her cheeks. She had seemed so bewildered, not like she was hiding anything. When the door was closed behind them, he sat on the bed with its still rumpled sheets and felt even more lost and more alone than he had before. Eventually he realized that he wasn’t the type to sit and wallow and it wasn’t long before he left the room on a mission.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Website Address: <span style=""> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:14;" ><a href="http://chellecordero.blogspot.com/"><span style="">http://chellecordero.blogspot.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Purchase Link:<span style=""> </span><a href="http://shop.vanillaheartbooksandauthors.com/product.sc?categoryId=5&amp;productId=22"><span style="">http://shop.vanillaheartbooksandauthors.com/product.sc?categoryId=5&amp;productId=22</span></a></p> <o:p></o:p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-26817539569585790842008-09-01T20:48:00.001-04:002008-12-11T17:21:23.688-05:00Knight Stalker by Linda Ciletti<p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-size:14;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Chapter One</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael held the phone receiver tight between her ear and shoulder. Her neck was beginning to ache. She’d been tempted to let the phone ring and go into voicemail. Now she wished she had. Not that she didn’t look forward to talking with Phil. However, history showed, when he called out of the blue, like tonight, he usually wanted something.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:85%;">“What are you saying? That Katrina can’t do the concert?” Her dark auburn hair, tied back at the nape, fell in a long cascade down her back. A stray hair tickled her nose and she tucked it behind her ear.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Katrina had a minor accident and will be laid up awhile.” Phil hesitated. “We need you, Rachael.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael paced the kitchen. She opened the freezer and pulled out a small container of rocky road ice cream. This phone conversation called for comfort food. “Phil...” She shoved a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, felt it melt in smooth perfection on her tongue then disappear. “...the show is only three weeks away. I’ll never be ready that soon. Can’t you find someone else? What about--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">She heard Phil sigh.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“Calm down,” Phil assured her. “And put that rocky road back in the frig.”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael choked.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“See, it’s deadly.” Phil paused, then said, “You’re the most accomplished flutist I know, better than Katrina. You’ll do just fine, you always do.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael felt her breath grow shallow. She breathed deep to combat her nervousness. She’d never performed as a soloist. Never desired to. Her voice shook. “As part of the main orchestra, yes, but--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Rach, you’re all I have. Sorry. And you’re ready. You’re really ready.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael switched the receiver to her other ear and worked the kink from her neck.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Listen, I hate to cut you short but I’ve gotta run.” She heard finality in Phil’s tone. “So much to do, so little time.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But Phil!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Don’t forget, solo practice starts Friday evening after regular practice.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael gasped. “That’s tomorrow!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yeah, it is. Don’t be late.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Phil? Phil! Don’t you hang up on--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A sudden click sounded over the line.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Damn!” Rachael slammed the receiver into its cradle. “For two cents I’d hire a new agent,” she grumbled.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Yeah right</i>. She ate several more spoonfuls of ice cream, then stuffed the container back into the freezer. She knew she could never fire Phil. He was too great an agent and too good a friend. If only he wasn’t so damn infuriating. But Phil had given her a means to keep Timmy warm, safe, and fed when Timmy’s louse of a father took off. Thank God she hadn’t married the loser. For Phil’s kindness and support, she would be eternally grateful.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">However, filling in for Katrina meant additional evening practices at the concert hall and less time spent with Timmy. Rachael sighed. She hadn’t enough time to spend with him as it was. How was she going to explain to a five-year-old who spent half a day in kindergarten and the other half with a sitter that his mommy must go to work during the few hours of evening that belong to him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael sighed again. It wasn’t that she begrudged having Timmy or caring for him. Timmy was the light of her life, the silver lining to her cloudy existence. Never would she regret giving birth to her son. Her only regret was that she couldn’t do better by him. Timmy deserved better--much better.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Mommy?” A small tow-headed boy peered hesitantly into the kitchen, his voice shaky and uncertain.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“Timmy, honey.” Rachael cast her concerns aside for a more important issue. She padded across the smooth tiled floor in slippered feet and knelt before him. “Are you okay?” She wrapped her arms about him and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked, though she already knew the reason.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy sniffled. “I had’d a bad dream, Mommy.” Safe in his mother’s company, he straightened his shoulders, his feigned bravado prompting Rachael to smile. “And then I heared you yelling.” His bottom lip extended in a pout. “Are <i>you</i> okay?” he asked in his mature little-boy way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael’s heart warmed at his concern. Her smile deepened. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you.” She ruffled his sleep-tousled hair, a pale cascade of soft silk that brushed just past his ears. The scent of herbal shampoo wafted about him. “But <i>you</i> should be in bed. You’ve got kindergarten in the morning.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But Maawm!” Timmy protested, his pout more pronounced.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No ifs, buts, or protests.” Taking Timmy’s small hand in hers, Rachael led him through the living room and up the dark walnut staircase to the second floor. “Come on, I’ll tuck you in.” She accompanied him down the narrow hall. As they neared his room, his lips pressed to a firm line, his eyes grew wide and wary, and she sensed a definite hesitation in his step. “Timmy, it’s okay,” she assured him. Recognizing his need to not be alone, she said, “I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy’s lips curved to a tentative smile. The worry crease of his brow fell smooth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael lifted Timmy in her arms and gave him an affectionate hug. She then laid him on the single bookcase bed where he kept his favorite reads. Lifting his downy comforter out from under him, she lovingly tucked its edges between the mattresses, sealing him in its warmth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Will you read me a story?” Timmy asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But I already read you a story earlier.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Please, Mommy, please.” His eyes grew wide and pleading. “Jist one.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But it’s nearly midnight and--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Please. Please, Mommy.” Timmy pouted--a beseeching pout that Rachael could not dismiss. She sighed resignedly. “Okay, but just one--a short one.” She ran a searching finger over the spines of the books that rested above Timmy’s head.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“The one wif the knight,” Timmy said. Contorting about, he pointed to a small thin book.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Pulling it free from the grouping, Rachael read the title aloud. “<i>Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</i>, <i>the Children’s Version.</i>” She stared down at Timmy’s supine form, so small and comfy beneath the thick covers. “Again?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy nodded eagerly and snuggled into his pillow.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But isn’t it a bit...” Rachael paused. Though the story was toned down for youthful reading, it was still violent. “...frightening, for this late hour?” She considered the cover art of a large and fearsome green knight, wondered if this book wasn’t the cause of Timmy’s recent nightmares.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Oh no, Mommy. He’s a good knight,” Timmy replied. “He jist looks mean.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I know, but...” Rachael looked at Timmy’s wide-eyed plea then succumbed. “Okay.” Pulling Timmy’s receding covers up about his chest, she brushed back a strand of pale hair from his face and kissed his forehead, a tinge of mother’s guilt nagging her at the extra practice sessions she would have to attend. She owed Timmy this story. “Close your eyes and think happy thoughts.” Rachael opened the book to page one, chapter one, and began reciting. “‘Silence!’ shouted Sir Gawain one New Year’s Day...”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">~ * ~</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Timmy, hurry. You’ll miss your bus.” Rachael pulled her hair back into a cream-colored tie. Quickly, she sipped the last tepid remains of her morning tea.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Coming, Mommy,” Timmy called from the upstairs landing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Retrieving her flute case and portfolio of sheet music, Rachael set them near the front door of their two-story brownstone apartment. A long day of practice at the concert hall lay ahead, to be followed by a quick fast-food dinner and an equally long and grueling night of the same, then a crowded bus ride home. Rachael released a long, exasperated breath. Another evening that Timmy would spend with Mrs. Evans, their landlord and babysitter, rather than herself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Mommy,” Timmy began. He paused as he pattered down the long flight of stairs that led from the upstairs hall, dragging his cumbersome backpack alongside him like a reluctant pup.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael smiled. “Need help with that?” she asked, reaching out.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No!” Timmy swung the pack over his shoulder, teetering slightly as the weight of it knocked his small frame off balance. Quickly, he steadied himself. “See, I can do it.” He smiled broadly. He was proud, but not nearly as proud as Rachael as she watched her independent son ready himself for another day of school.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Mommy,” he began again, slightly breathless.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yes?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“What’s a saddalite?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“<i>Satellite</i>. It’s a small spaceship without people that collects information and takes pictures in outer space, then sends them back to earth to be studied.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Are they magic?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No, they’re scientific.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“What’s that?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“It means there’s no mystery about them. We know exactly how they work and what they do.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You do!” Timmy eyed her with astonishment. “How?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Well, I personally don’t know, but scientists do.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But the man on the radio said a saddalite fell from the sky and disappeared like magic over England. And they didn’t find hiderhear of it.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“God! That happened at least six months ago--or more. Are they still talking about that?”</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy nodded feverishly. “Uh-huh.” Then his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What’s that mean? Hiderhear? Was there a rabbit in it?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael suppressed a giggle. “It’s <i>hide nor hair. </i>It means they haven’t found any part of it, not even the tiniest piece.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Ooohhh. So it disappeared like Whodeemi? That’s kinda magic, isn’t it? Cause he’s a magician.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“<i>Houdini</i>. And yes, kind of. But not really.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Don’t you believe in magic, Mommy?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael sighed. She hadn’t believed in magic in years. Not true magic. “I<i> believe</i> that you’re going to miss your bus if we don’t hurry.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Aw, Maawm.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“And remember, I’m going to be late tonight. I have to practice extra long for a very special concert. But I’ll absolutely come to your room and kiss you goodnight.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Do you have to practice?” Timmy asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’m afraid so.” Rachael helped him slip into his jacket. “Be good for Mrs. Evans when you get home from school,” Rachael reminded Timmy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy grimaced. “I’m <i>always</i> good for Mrs. Evans.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael ruffled the golden silk of his hair, loving the soft feel of it as it slid through her fingers. “I know,” she said as she zipped his jacket closed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy smoothed down his hair, leveling her with a reproving glare that she dared to dishevel him, and just when the bus was due.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael grinned at his growing independence and kissed his cheek. Through the picture window in her living room, her eye caught bright yellow movement down the street. “The bus is coming.” She patted his backside to set him on his way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Suddenly, Timmy’s eyes grew wide and flustered. “Oh, wait. Wait. I forgetted somethin’.” He dropped his pack and ran up the stairs.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Timmy!” Rachael called out. “You’re going to miss your...”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Already he was descending the steep incline at a pace too quick for his small feet.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“I getted it!” he announced. He grabbed his backpack and headed for the front door.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“<i>I got</i>. And what did you get?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Nuffin’, Mommy.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Tim-my,” Rachael drawled. “What did you get?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A horn blasted outside the brownstone. Timmy bounced excitedly on his sneakers. Mommy, I’m gonna be late,” he huffed anxiously.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Okay, okay.” Rachael ushered him out the door. “I love you,” she whispered, low and for Timmy’s ears only.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Timmy paused on the walkway steps. The brisk morning breeze ruffled his hair. The brilliant morning sun illuminated it. Turning, he smiled up at Rachael as she stood on the threshold watching him, then he scampered for the bus. It was the same every morning. The pause, the smile. And it never failed to warm her heart.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Stepping back into the apartment, Rachael gathered her things, then began walking the busy street to her own bus stop, mentally preparing herself for the day. Shifting her load, she brushed at a group of unsightly wrinkles that had already begun to form in the soft cream linen of her skirt and suit jacket. When her bus pulled to a halt, she struggled through the door and up its three metal stairs. She dropped several small coins into the change box. They fell with a melodious clatter.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Slowly, she made her way to the one available seat that rested between a woman wearing enough perfume to open her own refinery and a bedraggled man who hadn’t seen a shower in the better part of a month. The combination was enough to make her swoon. Holding her breath, she eased down onto the tattered cushion, tucking her flute case and portfolio safely between her feet and the seat. She glanced over her shoulder at the bedraggled man next to her. He was ogling her legs. Instinctively, she tugged on the hem of her skirt, which had somehow hiked up to mid-thigh.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Perv! she thought.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">She definitely needed a car.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">~ * ~</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Good practice, wasn’t it?” Samantha patted Rachael’s shoulder as they descended the lengthy stairs that led from the concert hall.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Could have been better,” Rachael muttered.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Samantha paused in stride. “It’ll get better,” she assured. “We still have two weeks of practice to go.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Two weeks,” Rachael murmured, then sighed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Samantha turned to face her friend. “It’s not practice, is it?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael shook her head.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Okay. Out with it,” Samantha ordered. “You’ve been acting weird all night. What’s bothering you?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael forced a smile. “It’s after ten. Timmy will be asleep by the time I get home. The only time I’ve spent with him today was an hour or so this morning. You know how I hate leaving Timmy with a sitter for so long a time, even if it<i> is </i>Mrs. Evans.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yeah?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I guess I’m just anticipating the next few weeks. You know how it gets.” Rachael sighed. “I miss him already, Sam.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“It’s only been a day,” Sam teased, then added, “But I don’t blame you. He’s the cutest thing this side of the city.” Hugging her violin case against her chest, she sighed theatrically. “If only he were twenty years older.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Both women laughed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yeah,” Rachael agreed. “They just don’t make them like that after the age of five anymore.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“They sure don’t.” Samantha opened the back door of her car and set her instrument case on the seat. Closing the door, she turned to Rachael. “Want a ride?” She smiled that dentist-perfect smile that always made Rachael think Sam had missed her calling as a supermodel.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No, thanks.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Are you sure? Even after that stinking pervert eyed you up and down on the bus this morning?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael bit her lip. “Oh yeah, I’d nearly forgotten about that.” She contemplated Sam’s offer. “But as long as the pervs only look, I’ll be fine. It’s losing time with Timmy that’s the problem.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sam threw her arms about her friend’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. “It’ll be over before you know it.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael forced a smile. “You’re right.” She straightened her back. <i>Think positive</i>.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“Now about that ride home?” Sam persisted.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No, really. Thanks. It’s out of your way and my bus will be here any minute. In fact, here it comes now.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Okay, be careful.” Sam gave Rachael a sisterly hug. “And watch out for those pervs,” she teased.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael gave her friend a gentle push toward her car. “I will. Now get going. I’ll see you on Monday.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Sir! Yes, sir!” Sam saluted Rachael before sliding behind the wheel of her car. “Give that little hunk of yours a kiss from me.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You bet.” Rachael took several steps toward the idling bus, admiring, with just a hint of envy, Sam’s free spiritedness and her careless manner of screeching tire as the small purple sports car tore out onto the main drag. She sighed heavily. It was how <i>she</i> wanted to be, carefree and full of spirit and fun. And she was, to a point. But she had responsibilities now. She had Timmy.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">Reaching behind her, Rachael felt for her purse. Not finding it, she gently set her instrument case, lunch bag, and portfolio on the ground. She rifled through them to see if her purse had somehow become entangled in the mess. “Damn,” she swore, not finding it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Getting on, lady?” the bus driver called impatiently.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael looked up at him. He was new. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her money was in her purse in the concert hall. “I guess not,” she replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“It’s an hour and a half till the next run,” the driver warned as if that piece of information could magically make her purse appear.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I know. Thank you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Okay,” the bus driver replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The folding bus doors squeaked to a close as Rachael turned toward the hall.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Having retrieved her purse, she again made her way down the cascade of steps. Her eyes lifted to the horizon. A brilliant mauve hue lit the sky. Darkness would envelope the streets in a matter of minutes, and it was a fifteen-block trek home. She sighed sharply. Why had she spent all her cash on lunch that day? Had she had more than a little change, she could have called a cab. As it was, there were no ATMs nearby. Rachael studied the road that led to her apartment. Fifteen blocks wasn’t <i>that </i>far.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Securing her possessions, she began walking, recalling all the city survival techniques she had learned over the years as she made her way home. Rule number one: <i>Avoid the streets after dark.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In a false confident stride, she kept close to the curb, avoiding dark alleyways and deep shadowy alcoves. One by one, she counted the blocks as she kept up a brisk pace.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>One, two, three...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A cool breeze swept over her face, warning of an approaching autumn storm. It pulled her hair out from its tie and whipped it about her shoulders.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Four, five, six...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Humidity filled her lungs. Soon sharp pellets of rain would spear from the sky, drenching the city in a chilling wash. She only hoped that she reached home before it let loose.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Seven, eight, nine...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael retrieved her house keys from her purse. She jingled them in her hand before shoving them into the side pocket of her suit jacket where they could be quickly retrieved.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Ten...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">So far, so good. The deserted streets seemed oddly surreal as city dwellers anticipated the approaching storm and stayed indoors.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Eleven...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Almost home. And thank God for that. Her inch-and-a-half heels were killing her feet. Rachael made a mental note to always, from this time forward, tote her sneakers with her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Twelve...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Her load grew heavier with every step, but the prospect of a warm cup of tea in front of a roaring fire raised her adrenaline level, giving her the added strength to keep moving. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she had the entire day to spend with Timmy. How she looked forward to that, and to the four weeks of relaxation after the upcoming concert. Four weeks to make up for the absences. Four weeks with Timmy and Timmy alone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Thirteen...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The storm raced in faster than she’d anticipated. Never had she seen the sky so ominously dark and heavily laden. It prompted her to quicken her gait.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Fourteen...</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A crash of thunder rocked the ground. Above, thick simmering clouds roiled over and in on themselves. Rachael stilled in her tracks, awestruck by the chilling force churning above her. A shudder ran through her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Then a second thunderous crash split the heavens, followed by a renting blaze of white and blinding flash of green. Rachael stumbled back and covered her eyes, dropping all that she carried. A mild charge hung in the air, setting the fine hairs of her arms to stand on end.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“My God!” she swore. She grappled for her belongings and hurried toward the safety of home, only a block away. Securing her cases in a better hold, she raced around a curve in the road.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A steely hand reached out from the dark-treed border of the park and clamped about her arm.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Gimme your money, bitch,” the thug demanded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael screamed. Her body jolted from his sudden, bruising grip. A skull-and-cross bone tattoo framed his forearm. His gaze was hard and desperate. Knowing she couldn’t best him, she reached for her handbag to comply. She knew there wasn’t any money in it, but maybe he’d take the whole thing and run without checking.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The thug’s grip tightened. His lips contorted as dark hollow eyes regarded her through her clothes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Again a flash of lightning split the sky, its sudden brilliance snapping off the cold stare of her assailant.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“My purse. I--I must have dropped it.” Having no bargaining tool, she tried twisting from his grip, but the thug’s pointed fingers bit deeply into her flesh.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Listen, lady,” he warned. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” He ran a lurid gaze over her. “But if you ain’t got no money, we can work it out in trade. Know what I mean?” He drew a silver object from his pocket. When he pressed its side, a click sounded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael caught her breath and stilled. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to the open switchblade that rested near her chin.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You ain’t going nowhere, lady. We’re gonna have ourselves a party.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A second man emerged from the shadows, taller and infinitely larger. He joined his companion, a similar tattoo marking his arm.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Don’t hurt me, please,” Rachael pleaded. “I have a kid. Take anything you want. My purse is just over there.” She pointed shakily to where she’d dropped her belongings. “H-here, take my flute. You can hock it and--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A sharp slap silenced her, and she stumbled back, falling to the gritty asphalt road behind her. One leg struck the high cement curb of the sidewalk, A gripping pain sliced her thigh.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“We don’t want no damn flute,” the second man said.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael looked up at the two men, followed their lewd appraisals to her exposed legs. Quickly, she reached for her flute case. If nothing else, it could serve as a weapon.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Her thoughts raced to Timmy as her fingers brushed the case’s rich leather. She couldn’t die. Not now. Timmy needed her.<i> </i>Grappling for the case’s stocky handle, she nearly had hold of it when a booted foot kicked it from her grasp.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You won’t be needin’ that,” the man cackled. His dark eyes continued assessing her, a piercing stare that bore clean through to the soul. Her face ached where she’d been struck. Already her cheek was swollen, impairing her left-side vision. She detected the hollow stare of the larger man. His dark scraggly hair rested in a tangled heap on his shoulders, his gnarly beard unkempt over thick lips and a slightly squared jaw. He was foreboding just to look on, but it was the hardness of his eyes that frightened her most.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Please, don’t,” she pleaded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The man’s lips curled malevolently, accentuating scars from knife fights long past. “Shut up, bitch!” he bellowed. He grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her to her feet.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael stumbled, struggling to keep afoot against the throbbing of her thigh.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Let’s go,” the dark giant commanded. With the aid of his accomplice, he dragged her deeper into the grove of trees that edged the park.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael struggled against his hold, but her strength was no match to his. Thunder crashed. Again, Rachael screamed. Then an ominous silence fell over the park. Silence so thick it was palpable. It stilled her cries just as it stilled her attackers. Their sudden release sent her sprawling to the dewy grass.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“What the hell’s that?” she heard one man exclaim. She followed the man’s wide-eyed stare.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">A spectral image loomed against a backdrop of roiling dark clouds and brilliant flashes of light. It stood tall and proud and was covered in a chest plate, greaves, and helm that glowed faintly green. One meshed hand gripped the hilt of a sword. Rachael sucked in a breath. Palms to ground, she slid stealthily back on her bottom.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">The smaller man stepped foolishly forward. “Hey, Halloweener, this ain’t October, you know,” he taunted. “Shove off if you know what’s good for you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The larger man waved his knife in a sluicing motion before him, shifting it from one hand to the other and back with practiced grace.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The knight remained poised and unaffected, his armor gleaming more vibrantly green at each jagged spear that pierced the sky.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I said, shove off, buddy. This is our lay,” the thug repeated as the two of them circled him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael again slid back, distancing herself from a violent confrontation. Her thoughts centered on Timmy; her gaze, on the knight. Her attackers no longer paid her any mind, their attention now shifted to the encroacher.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A feral growl sounded beneath the specter’s helm and he maneuvered himself between her and her attackers. Rachael shuffled to her feet, afraid of the specter, but more afraid of the alternative. Then a blinding flash rent the sky, ending with a violent crash of thunder. Rachael screamed, prompting the image to turn and face her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Her breath caught.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Fierce amber eyes fixed on her through the fine slits of a helm--golden wolfish eyes that held her bound, assessing her. Rachael gasped, then stumbled back as the specter broke contact to face his opponents once more. Her heart pounded as she grabbed her flute and briefcase, kicked off her heels, and raced the half block to home.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">~ * ~</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel faced his opponents. Slowly, he unsheathed his sword. From the corner of his vision, he’d caught sight of the woman as she’d escaped into the night and slammed the door of a dwelling farther down the road to hide behind the safety of its walls. His thoughts replayed her confrontation with the swine before him. They spoke a manner of English. Though French was his first language, he knew the other well.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Come, <i>paysans,</i>” he called out, prompting them to battle. “Fight<i> me</i>!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The larger of the two attackers looked pathetically at the switchblade clutched between his fingers, then at the huge menacing sword Michel swung before him in challenge. Seeing the disadvantage, the man’s attitude changed from challenging to compromising. “Listen, man, we don’t wanna fight you.” He stepped back, dragging his accomplice with him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Cowards! Attackers of women! Fight!” Slicing the air with his weapon, Michel approached the two men. “<i>Battez un homme, paysans</i>.” <i>Fight a man. </i>The smaller thug scrambled in front of his friend. “He’s bluffin’ man. He ain’t gonna use that thing. He’s just some foreign piece of shit. We kin take ’em.” Sure that his friend supported his decision, he stepped forward, accepting Michel’s challenge.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel lunged, slicing the man’s thigh with the tip of his sword. A minor wound, but one that would hurt like the devil.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Shit!” The man fell back. He landed on his rear with a hard thump. “He cut me, man. He cut me.” He scampered back on his elbows.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The larger man grabbed his accomplice by the arm, dragging him to his feet while his injured friend wrapped a hanky about his wound. “Come on, let’s git outta here.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’m bleedin’ man. Look at this!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yeah, yeah. Come on.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">With the support of his friend, the smaller man hobbled along, his hand pressed to the wound to help staunch the flow of blood. “I’ll kill ya, man,” he screamed back over his shoulder as the two of them disappeared into the park. “You’re dead meat next time, buddy. You jist wait.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel set his sword at rest as the sound of idle threats faded into the distance. Slowly, he slid his weapon back into its scabbard.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">~ * ~</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Gracious Lord! Rachael! What happened?” Standing in the kitchen doorway, Mrs. Evans stared wide-eyed at Rachael’s bared feet. “And where are your shoes, girl?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Having burst through the door, Rachael slammed the bolt lock into place and fell back against the heavy oak barrier to catch her breath. “I-I was m-mugged,” she stammered. She dropped her cases to the floor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Mugged? Lord Almighty, you’re shaking like a leaf. Come on.” Mrs. Evans put an arm about Rachael’s shoulders and led her to the couch. “Sit down before you fall.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael followed Mrs. Evans through the dimly lit living room, too weak to resist.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’m calling the police.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No!” Rachael protested. “They’ll never b...” Rachael worried her lip. How could she convince the police of what she saw when she didn’t believe it herself?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“They’ll never what?” Mrs. Evans asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“They’ll never...umm...be there by the time the police arrive.” She breathed deeply. “God, look at me. I can’t stop shaking.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mrs. Evans glanced at Rachael’s cases. She took Rachael’s hands in hers to still them. “They got your purse, didn’t they?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael looked by the door where she dropped her belongings, though she already knew the purse wasn’t there. “I guess so. I dropped it.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Then you need to call the police. You’re not safe. They have all your info, girl, including your address.” Mrs. Evans headed for the phone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Wait!” Rachael cried out. She shot a glance at the bolt lock. It was engaged. “I mean, not now. I’ll call in the morning.” She sensed Mrs. Evans’ disapproval. “I promise,” she assured the older woman. “The bolt lock will secure the place until then.” She drew a deep breath. “Right now, I just want to get myself together. ”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Are you sure?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’m sure.” Rachael sank back into the couch cushions, relieved to be home and safe.</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“Okay,” Mrs. Evans replied as she headed toward the kitchen. “How about a nice hot cup of tea. That will settle those nerves.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You don’t have to do that. It’s late and--”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Fiddle dee.” Ignoring Rachael’s protests, Mrs. Evan disappeared into the kitchen.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael touched her throbbing cheek, then the harsher throbbing of her thigh. She sighed heavily. If Mrs. Evans had suspected she’d been hurt, she would never have taken no for an answer.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Fortunately, her landlord’s brownstone apartment adjoined Rachael’s with an inside connecting door. Just the thought of unbolting the main door renewed her shakes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Here you go, sweetie.” Mrs. Evans reached for the lamp as she handed Rachael her tea. “Let me turn up the lights for you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No!” Rachael took the proffered tea. “I mean, I prefer it dark.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Dark?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’ve got a headache,” Rachael said, sure that one was coming on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mrs. Evans eyed her warily. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’m fine. Really. Just a bit shaken, that’s all. A nice hot bath will take care of that.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Well, then.” Mrs. Evans sounded doubtful. “If you’re sure.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael sipped her tea. “How’s Timmy?” she asked, changing the subject.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Snug as a bug in a rug.” Mrs. Evans picked up her babysitter satchel of puzzles, games, and books, and slung it over her shoulder.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rachael sighed. “Thanks, Mrs. Evans. I know it was last minute and I appreciate you agreeing to watch Timmy while I’m at night practice.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mrs. Evan made her way to the connecting door. Before passing through, she turned to Rachael. “Fiddle dee. You know I love staying with Timmy. He’s like a grandson to me. And as my beloved husband departed this world without leaving me a son of my own...” She smiled warmly. “Just lock up tight and, if you need anything, call.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I’ll do that.” Rachael got up from the sofa and gave Mrs. Evans a hug. “Thank you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">~ * ~</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel assessed the new world around him. The woman’s tall abode sat nestled tightly between similar buildings that stood all in a row. Before it, a thick run of shrubbery grew, flanked by a long cascade of flat stone stairs. The dwelling’s heavy stone walls reminded him of Banesford Manor, but on a much smaller scale.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">His eyes strayed to the surrounding village. Small torches sans flame burned before each dwelling and the gritty black road beneath him was of a substance he had never before seen. He scraped its hard surface with the heel of a boot, then removed a gauntlet and ran his hand over its grainy crest. “Saints!” he swore. “What is this place?” Again, he scoured the area, noting how it differed from the Banesford demesne. He felt comfort only in the forestry of the park--and in the single brownstone building numbered forty and seven. The one whereto the woman had fled.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>The woman.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Who was she? Why was she under attack? And why had she fled... <i>from him? </i>By the saints, he had been protecting her. Was there no gratitude in this place?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">But she was <i>une belle femme</i>. A beautiful woman<i> </i>with dark fiery hair that hung in loose waves down her back. A heavenly creature--angelic in the creamy white garb that accentuated her womanly curves and revealed an obscenity of leg. Beautiful shapely legs.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Had he died and gone to heaven?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i>Mais non, c’est impossible. </i>Two swine had attacked her from the shadows of the wood. Such evil did not exist within the boundaries of heaven, and such an angelic vision as she could never abide in the dark depths of hell. <i>Nay,</i> he was neither in heaven nor hell, but rather on earth--a part of earth he knew not, nor wanted to. A part of earth he could well live without, but had no choice but to live within. He shook his head. The magic of the armor had faded as surely as had the voices of his quarry. He’d felt the loss of it the moment he’d come fully to his senses, the moment the lightning had ceased. No longer did his flesh tingle beneath the smooth metal plate, no longer did the armor glow a vibrant shade of green. It felt common now. Finely crafted, but nothing more. The magic that would return him to Banesford was gone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Pulling free his helm, Michel slumped against a nearby tree. <i>Banesford, </i>he reflected<i>. </i>A fortnight ago, he and Henry of Banesford had braved a violent storm in pursuit of a vicious killer.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“See you him?” Michel had asked his lord and liege</span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2" style=""><span style="font-size:85%;">“Nay.” Henry replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Nor I.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A third man, however, caught sight of Ruford seated on his stallion at the highest crest of the meadow. “There.” He pointed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel recalled his first impulse. “<i>Allons-y!</i>” He’d called out. <i>Let’s go.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Nay!” Henry had called him back. “Something is amiss.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“What is it?” Michel’s steed pawed the earth, anxious to complete the mission.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Look.” Henry pointed to Ruford’s dark silhouette, a halo of green surrounding it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Stilling his horse, Michel studied their prey. “<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” he swore. “The glow intensifies.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Aye. And Ruford sits unmoving.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Then let us grab him whilst we can.” Michel readied to spur his mount forward.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Again Henry held him back. “Nay. I smell disaster.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Suddenly a thunderous crash shook the heavens and rattled the ground.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel recalled the sudden burst of light and how the three of them had covered their eyes against the blinding flash. When they looked up Ruford was gone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Spurring their horses to full gallop, they had raced to the top of the hill.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“God’s mercy!” Henry swore as they reached the peak. “Is it dead?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel jumped down from his horse and checked Ruford’s steed. “Quite.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“And Ruford.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Gone, my lord.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Gone? But how?” Henry shot a fast glance over the field then turned to face Michel. “How could he have escaped?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel could still feel the heaviness of failure.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“’Tis as though he disappeared,” Henry had said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“He lives,” Michel replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But how?” Henry pointed to Ruford’s lifeless horse.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I know not, my lord. I only know that I must find him.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Henry looked at Michel as though he had lost his senses. “Find him? How?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“’Twas the armor which brought the lightning to him, sending him to another place.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Nay, Michel. Granted, the metal from which the armor was forged had unusual properties, but to cause one to vanish to another place?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You did see it as clearly as I,” Michel retorted.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I did see him disappear is all. But to believe him yet alive and elsewhere?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“See you a body?” Michel asked. He sliced the air with his hand.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Nay.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“The bolt struck him as a purposeful act. Ruford lives. I am sure of it. And ’tis my duty to stop him. I did vow this.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Then I release you from this vow,” Henry commanded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You cannot. ’Twas not a vow to you,” Michel informed him. “’Twas a vow to another.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“To whom?” Henry demanded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“To God.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Henry’s expression fell. A vow to God was sacred. “But how will you hunt him when you know not where to look?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“There is but one place to look, my lord.” Michel hung his head.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Where?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Lifting his head, Michel met Henry’s gaze. “To the remaining armor.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel recalled the horror on Henry’s face.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I forbid it,” Henry had bellowed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“There is no other way,” Michel argued. “Ruford has killed nine innocents already. He must be stopped.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Ruford is gone. That is all that matters,” Henry argued.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But gone where?” Michel asked, knowing that was not all that mattered. “How many others will die, ’haps not at Banesford, but elsewhere--innocent young maids like Isabo.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel would never forget the look on Henry’s face as he reflected on the heinous way his niece was murdered. Her hands bound in silver cord. Her throat slashed from ear to ear.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“But even should it work and you are able to follow him, how will you return?” Henry had asked. “<i>Will</i> you be able to return?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A sullen Michel looked at Henry as though for the last time. “I know not,” he answered. “But I will have stopped a murderer. Isabo’s killer.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel could still hear Henry’s resigning sigh. It was a sigh of regret. A sigh of sadness and grief. Finally, Henry had relented. “Then go, Michel.” He gave Michel’s shoulder a fatherly squeeze. “And God go with you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">~ * ~</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Michel closed his eyes and gathered his strength. Opening his eyes, he stared off into a new and strange village. He wondered where to go from here. He had a mission to uphold, a vow to keep--that was a certainty. He had taken the greatest risk a man can take. And now that he was here, he must find Ruford, <i>if </i>Ruford was indeed here at all.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">But as dire as finding Ruford was, it would have to wait. For the moment, he faced another immediate concern. Lodging. Michel ran an assessing gaze over the village. Rows of stone dwellings stood butted against the other, their flameless torches scattering light over expertly coiffed shrubbery. The dwellings’ stately windows stood at attention, some dark, some shining intermittently with a warm yellow glow. Occasionally, a silhouette passed by, giving evidence of life within.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The surreality of this world both frightened and intrigued him, and he dwelled on this until only one truth came to mind. He had to seek out shelter.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">It was on this thought that the first pelt of rain struck his face.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“<i>Dieu</i>,” he swore. “What more can go astray?” Slipping off the chest plate, greaves and gauntlets he’d donned in what seemed another world, he made his way down the empty street to hide his armor beneath a heavy shrub outside the number forty and seven dwelling. Drawing a deep and fortifying breath, he approached its stately door and knocked.</span></p><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:10;" ><o:p></o:p></span></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:85%;" >Title: KnightStalker<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:85%;" >Author: Linda Ciletti<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:85%;" >Website: <a href="http://www.lindaciletti.net/"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">www.lindaciletti.net</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:85%;" ><a href="http://www.wingsepress.com/Bookstore/KnightStalker.htm"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">http://www.wingsepress.com/Bookstore/KnightStalker.htm</span></a></span>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-25395313002815853052008-08-17T16:50:00.001-04:002008-08-18T10:58:54.163-04:00Settling by Joan L Cannon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SKmOByofiYI/AAAAAAAABf8/cIY5kkzQVlg/s1600-h/Settling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SKmOByofiYI/AAAAAAAABf8/cIY5kkzQVlg/s320/Settling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235872203217537410" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'position:absolute;"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Owner\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg" title=""> <w:wrap type="square"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></p><o:p></o:p><o:p></o:p><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" align="center">Settling<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" align="center">Chapter One</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>Ruth March reached for the arm rest to steady herself as the big black Buick sedan slewed on a curve. She wondered why Realtors felt such a pressing need to show how big a car they could afford. Her mind felt as unbalanced as her body, turning from one misgiving to another with the futility of a goldfish circling its bowl. She wound down her window to get some fresh air on her face. The view through the windshield showed her how far she was venturing from <st1:place st="on">Greenwich Village</st1:place>, from everything she had known for over twelve years.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A moist wind blew across her face and pulled strands of her copper-colored hair free, dragging them into her eyes. She pulled down the visor and used the mirror to try to tuck them into place again.<span style=""> </span>She was surprised at the face she saw there, not the features, which showed some distinction, with her short nose and wide mouth, high cheekbones and level brows, but rather by the expression. She had been unaware of how mournful she looked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Mrs. Chapin, the real estate broker, had a nasal voice, full of flat As. “Don’t you want to run the window up? The wind is spoiling your hair. You say you're moving out of the city?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Slightly startled out of her reverie, Ruth nodded. “Yes.” She pushed up the visor and made an attempt to arrange her face to look more cheerful.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“How’s that?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, I’ve—. It’s time for a change.” Ruth had known she would have to learn how to field questions like these, but certainly she wasn’t ready now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Tch!” clucked Mrs. Chapin, twitching the wheel to avoid a pothole. “It’s hard when things don’t work out. You did say you were by yourself, didn’t you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Mm-hm.” Ruth closed her eyes for an instant as if she could shut out even inward sights. She fingered the scarf at her neck, then pressed at the pins securing her chignon. Her long legs were cramped by a short driver’s adjustment of the front seat. The scenery at least was soothing, but she longed for silence. She reminded herself that panic only thrust tranquility further out of reach, and did her best to resist it, but was unnerved by a sensation of sinking into a void.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Mrs. Chapin piped up again. “Just tell me if you want me to mind my own business. I suppose you’re divorced. I’m sure you’ll find some other young women….”<span style=""> </span>She rattled on, apparently oblivious to her passenger’s discomfort. Ruth knew that Mrs. Chapin was only trying to do her job, which was to sell real estate, and maybe she even meant to be friendly, but she itched to tell the woman to be quiet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Finally Mrs. Chapin said, “We turn here where the mailboxes are. It’s the last house on the road, about a mile in from the highway. You wouldn’t mind being alone? So few neighbors and all?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Ruth said, “No, I was raised in the country.” In the field on her side of the car, small dark junipers scattered among golden bunches of poverty grass showed that no one had mowed the pasture for some time. On its far side a small hill, wooded with oaks and beeches, rose against a sky roiling with massing clouds. Stone walls were partly hidden by young trees and brush, draped with hoary seed-heads of wild clematis, clumps of barberry, grape vines, brambles. A clear brown stream, overhung by maples and ashes, angled off from a culvert they crossed. Early leaves were turning; Virginia creeper flamed against dark tree trunks and silvery fence posts. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The catalogue of plants flowed comfortably through Ruth’s mind like the names of old friends. She drew a deep breath, savoring the mossy smells, the scents of earth and dead leaves and coming rain. A flood of girlhood memories rushed into her mind.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She leaned forward in the seat to see around her companion’s plump bosom. A feathery hemlock partly hid the corner of a house, its weathered clapboard siding blending into the landscape like the plumage of a grouse in the woods. A small lawn separated it from the road and showed green through a drift of new-fallen, golden leaves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Ruth turned her gaze hungrily to the fading autumnal countryside. She thought how the scene was so unlike her childhood home on the coast of <st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on">Maine</st1:state></st1:place>. Here horizons were close and cozy, formed by thick woods or the folds of hills. She recognized her rush to the rural as an atavistic move, but was already reassured. The country itself lifted her spirits. Maybe nature and solitude—a symbolic return to innocence—might help. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>When they stopped with a jerk, Ruth jumped out and hurried around the front of the car up to the paneled door of the house. Mrs. Chapin went on talking like a nervous hostess as she rummaged in her handbag. “I’ll just find the key, and then we can go inside.” She raised her voice to cover the distance between them, as Ruth, standing on the porch, leaned sideways to look in a window. “There’s a good, dependable water supply. You can see the spring house roof there back of that big rock… ”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Ruth didn’t listen, waiting impatiently for Mrs. Chapin to bring the key. She looked up at a deserted phoebe’s nest above one of the porch posts, saw a cracked pane in an eyebrow window, a row of neat dentils almost hidden by the gutter. The louvers of the real shutters were lumpy with generations of repainting. Suddenly she felt like an exile returning, overcome with eagerness to see every detail, to compare this place with her unexpressed—indeed barely acknowledged—expectation. The saleswoman’s monologue ran on, praising meaningless details of renovation, while she made her way across the lawn to Ruth on the porch.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Once inside, Ruth rebelled against the remorseless flow of information. “Mrs. Chapin, would you mind very much if I just spent a few minutes looking around by myself? I’ll meet you at the car shortly.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Eyebrows raised, unmistakably miffed, her guide flounced back to the car, leaving Ruth alone in the quiet old house. The darkening day accentuated the sheltering character of low-ceilinged rooms and heavy beams, wide boards and paneling. Plaster, uneven over old lath, was scabrous; paint was smudged and faded on the woodwork. Mouse droppings littered corners, and when Ruth opened the cellar door, her nose told her the floor down there was earth. There were old fashioned registers in the floor, but plumbing in kitchen and bathrooms looked less antiquated than what she had grown up with. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She went up the steep boxed stairs, and looked at the three rooms on the second floor. When she stooped to one of the small-paned eyebrow windows, she could see over a granite outcrop to the mossy shingles on the spring house roof. Beyond thickets stretched the small meadow that went with the house, a clump of molting cattails showing where the ground was wet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Something in this pastoral setting gave her a sense of second wind, like a tiring runner. In the few minutes since she had seen this house, her thoughts had taken an eager leap forward. It was the first time in long months that she began to feel less burdened by sadness, less hopeless. She pictured her great-grandmother’s sampler hanging above a rocking chair, delphiniums and hollyhocks planted along a stone wall.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Downstairs again, she looked up at the beams that someone had exposed in what had once been a kitchen, but now would serve as living room. They ran out from the chimney wall, where she knew they were supported by the fieldstone structure in the middle of the house. The kitchen, the center of the home, and the prop for the whole structure. Symbolic. Ruth bent to look up through the large opening and saw swifts’ nests silhouetted on the sides of the chimney. A whiff of old smoke and ashes made her sneeze.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a quick turn that was almost a pirouette, she scanned the room one more time, then went out the back door and headed for the spring house. A few large drops of rain fell heavily from the lowering sky. Where water overflowing from the spring drained away into the field, the small runnel was fringed with cattails, ferns, loosestrife, and wild flags. For an uplifted moment she stood, breathing the smells of wet earth and dry leaves. Like a tiny kingdom, this was complete. She held her palms up to the rain. Drops fell more rapidly as the air cooled abruptly, and a breeze sprang up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Distracted with her impressions, she had no idea Mrs. Chapin was watching her from the driveway. “Mrs.Duchamp, don’t you think we ought to be getting back?” The shrill voice slashed through the whisper of raindrops.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Coming,” Ruth called. Hugging herself as if she were protecting her joy, she hurried to head off this garrulous, anxious person she already viewed as an intruder.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>As they drove away, Ruth kept silent, while Mrs. Chapin renewed her gush of superfluous data, punctuated by requests for agreement. Ruth tried to shut out the voice next to her; she wanted to review every detail of what she had seen before they reached the real estate office. She walked again in her mind through each room, recalling yet more delightful particulars: how the view through the narrow windows under the eaves provided a special slant on the world outside, the texture of worn chestnut planks, smoke stains on the mantels, even the corners where cobwebs hung fluttering gently in the air her passage stirred. She knew she could be at home there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Ruth interrupted the monologue. “Would there be an option available, if I should be interested in buying later?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Mrs. Chapin glanced away from the road. “I’ll be happy to inquire for you, but I’m sure something could be arranged. It’s part of an estate, and they’re just beginning probate now, so I imagine they’d be happy to settle matters expeditiously.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“When could I move in?” Ruth blurted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Oh,” Mrs. Chapin said, taking her eyes off the road and trying to see Ruth’s expression. “Then you do like it? You didn't say—. ”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“My lease in the city is up in a very short time, and I want to spend the autumn here.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Ruth couldn’t hide a smile, but it was no longer important. At least now there was silence in the car. Mrs. Chapin was apparently satisfied. Clearly, nothing short of a deal could have stemmed her tide of maddening conversation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Back in the office, Ruth signed necessary papers with a feeling of calm gratification mingled with anticipation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'position:absolute;"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Owner\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg" title=""> <w:wrap type="square"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Title: SETTLING</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Author:<span style=""> </span>Joan L. Cannon</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Website: <a href="http://www.jlcannon.net/">www.jlcannon.net</a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Blog: <a href="http://www.hilltopnotes.blogspot.com/">www.hilltopnotes.blogspot.com</a></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-30628247073618523412008-08-05T17:30:00.000-04:002008-08-05T17:33:42.895-04:00The Girl Who Fell by Brynneth Colvin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SJjG2e-b2uI/AAAAAAAABe0/yHmuSb12LeY/s1600-h/TheGirlWhoFell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SJjG2e-b2uI/AAAAAAAABe0/yHmuSb12LeY/s320/TheGirlWhoFell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231149606521002722" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">How did you get interested in the topic that’s featured in your book?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Music is a big part of my life – I’ve played various instruments since childhood. Working with other musicians was a major inspiration. Loss of memory, along with other mental phenomena have interested me since I minored in psychology at college.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Tell us a bit about your background. What have you done in the past that relates to your book and that topic?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I’m glad to say I have no first-hand experience of memory loss! Aside from the musical influences, this is very much an imaginary tale and bears very little resemblance to my own life.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">What advise would you give to someone who is interested in your topic?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Fantasy, music, mental chaos, mystery... if you like this sort of thing you could do a lot worse than read one of my books.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">What do you see as the benefit to participating in groups and organizations? My first thought would be networking opportunities and the chance for personal and business growth. What are your reasons? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Most of my inspiration comes from people I meet. The various groups I am in have given me opportunities to connect with some truly amazing people.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Who is the ideal person to read your book? If each person that reads this was going to recommend your book to one person, what sort of person would they want to chose?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">People who like fantasy but don’t want another epic adventure with an unpronounceable barbarian hero on a quest to find a magical sword and kill the ultimate evil. My fantasy work is NOT epic, it’s about strange and wonderful people encountering strange and wonderful things. And terrible things. Plots, mysteries, adventures and magic all on a very human scale.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">What do you think ignites a person’s creativity?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">For me, all of life is an interplay between what I experience and what I imagine. In Druidry, there’s a concept called ‘awen’ – a free flowing force of inspiration that you can just reach out and engage with.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">What have you found to be the biggest stumbling block for people who want to start writing?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Having enough ideas. Plenty of people have ‘an idea for a book’. The trouble is, an idea will give you a short story. For a novel, you need dozens of good ideas that all mesh together into a coherent whole.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">How would you suggest they can overcome that?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Either write short stories – which is a good way to develop your skills anyway, or wait, gather more ideas, do more research, plan more and then write.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">What do you find is the biggest motivator for people to succeed? Is it money, security, desire for fame or something else?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I can’t speak for anyone else here, but for me its the desire to move and inspire others that keeps me writing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Who is the “perfect” person to read your book?<span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">My ideal reader for this one would be the lad who most inspired me, but he just doesn’t read all that much, sadly. </span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-10110242433624261152008-08-05T16:51:00.000-04:002008-08-05T16:55:19.012-04:00Sinbad's Last Voyage by Toni Sweeney<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SJi9oO2AC_I/AAAAAAAABeM/Z2zIqrWy8UA/s1600-h/sinbad-510.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SJi9oO2AC_I/AAAAAAAABeM/Z2zIqrWy8UA/s320/sinbad-510.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231139466067839986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">CHAPTER ONE</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Indian George kicked the big sorrel into a grudging gallop. The animal was old and fat and didn’t like to run, much less travel along a mud-rutted dirt road. A slow, drag-hoofed amble was its preferred speed. <i>He should have taken the Jeep</i>. It was rusty and antiquated, but it would have gotten him to his destination quicker. Like most Naturals, however, George never used the vehicle if he could keep from doing so.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The Jeep was for long distances and emergencies, and while this was an emergency, the Talltrees’ farm was next door to his and the sorrel could take the road much easier than an ancient contraption like George’s automobile, with its primitive internal combustion engine. Its wheels—that actually <i>touched</i> the ground—would hit every pothole and dip in sight. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He gave the sorrel’s withers a slap with his hand.<span style=""> </span>“Git, you nag! Or it’s the processing plant for you.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The sorrel didn’t move a bit faster, as if aware that horses were an <i>Endangered Domestic Species </i>and knew it was totally safe. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Only an hour earlier, George had heard of Tran’s arrest. In the three days since an Albegensian warship had fired upon a Terran deep-space freighter, blasting it to micro-particles with all hands on board, all Albegensi in Earth residence were being taken into custody and detained for questioning in accordance with <i>Standard Procedure</i> in times of <i>Global Martial Emergency</i>. Tran had been one of the unfortunates.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>George was old enough to have lived through two wars between Earth and its neighbors and he was aware of what might happen to Tran now, and he knew none of it would be pleasant. At the moment, however, his concern was for the welfare of Tran’s wife and son who were alone at the farm. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He turned the sorrel’s head, guiding it through the gate, and pulled it to a stiff-legged and grateful halt in front of the house. The animal snorted and stretched its neck against the reins, attempting to reach the short grass growing in the front yard, to make up for the meal it had been forced to miss by taking its owner on this sudden trip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The Talltrees’ home was a small wooden building, every plank and nail placed by hand over 100 years before by Ramon Talltrees, great-grandfather of Tran’s wife, Andrea. Like the other inhabitants of the Valley, Ramon had been a Natural, choosing to live as his ancestors had centuries before, with as few contemporary conveniences—and their accompanying pollution—as possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>On the top step of the porch sat a boy, arms resting against his knees. He was slim and dark. At first glance, he might have been mistaken for one of George’s people, but the blue-black sheen to his braided hair as well as the slight slant to his brown eyes marked him as Albegensi—Tran’s 14-year-old son, Acashi, suddenly finding himself head of the house and in charge of the farm. He didn’t look up as George scrambled off the sorrel’s back and dropped the reins, but stared listlessly across the field beyond the fence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Leaving the sorrel munching on Andrea’s daisies, George looked up at the boy.<span style=""> </span>“Cash?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He had to call twice before Cash turned from his contemplation of the field. There was a hopelessness in the young face that made the old man want to cry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where’s your mother?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“She’s inside,” the boy said, gesturing behind him. As George started up the steps, he reached out and caught the old man’s arm. “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t eaten since they took Dad away.” He was holding an oak leaf, and began to shred it into strips as he spoke. “She just sits there. I practically had to carry her upstairs to sleep.” He threw the pieces of leaf to the ground and looked across the field again, tears in the voice but they wouldn’t show in the eyes. Tran’s son wouldn’t allow that. “I-I’m scared. I’ve lost Dad--I don’t want to lose her, too.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The old man patted the boy’s shoulder and went through the front door. Though the Naturals’ teachings allowed the use of electricity, it was not the solar power utilized by the rest of the world, but the hydroelectric kind supplied by a small generating plant set on the falls of the river that wandered through the Valley. Fuel lamps were the usual mode of illumination, although no one had turned on the lights. It was so dim inside George thought the room was empty. Then, he saw Andi, sitting beside the fireplace.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The room was cold for an April day, but no fire had been laid. She was in the old rocker—handmade, like the rest of the furniture—staring into the emptiness of the hearth. She didn’t look up as George came in, didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Huddled in the rocker, hands clutched against her chest, she sat blank-eyed, like someone’s ancient grandmother. Only one hand moved, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. She was wearing a sweater, a long skirt, and knee-high suede boots—all handmade, all products of the farm. Her hair, thick and honey-yellow, hung in a single braid over one shoulder.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Seeing her tear-stained blondness, George once again marveled that she was mother to the dark-haired, dark-eyed child who sat on the front steps. <i>She looks so young</i>, he thought. Like Cash’s older sister, not his mother.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Andi?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She didn’t move, but when he got nearer, she spoke in a low monotone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“They took him away, George. Arrested him on ‘suspicion’—what does that mean? Suspicion of <i>what</i>?” When she looked at the old Navajo, her eyes were bleak with despair, lashes wet with the tears that Cash wouldn’t shed. “How could they think Tran’s a spy? It’s preposterous!” She shook her head and turned to stare at the hearth again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Come on.” George put his arms around her, pulling her to her feet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where are we going?” she asked, mildly protesting being moved, and clutched at his hands for support.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“To the kitchen.” He steered her through the open doorway at the back of the room and pushed her toward the trestle table. “Cash says you haven’t eaten. That isn’t going to do anyone any good.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She sat at the table while he put the kettle on to boil. Luckily, Cash had stoked the cast-iron stove earlier, and it was still hot. George added another log and turned to look at Andi. She was pale, as dazed as someone abandoned, and he didn’t like it. The Andi he knew was a feisty little thing, who could lick all of her 110 pounds in wildcats, and took no guff from anyone. This docile, apathetic creature was totally unlike her. She was in shock, he decided. Turning back to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What will you do, Andi?” he asked, thinking frantically of something to say, anything to get her talking and take that lost look from her face.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Do? I…” She looked across the table at him. “George, I don’t know. What <i>can</i> I do?” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “If I knew where Tran was taken, maybe I could petition the local headquarters, get affidavits from our neighbors saying he’s no spy, somehow get him released, but I don’t even know where he is.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>George had a good idea where Tran was, but he hated to tell her. He also knew she had little chance of freeing her husband on the strength of some names written on a paper, even if she was lucky enough to find anyone unafraid of signing it. Only two times in the past 300 years had the United Terran Federation relinquished a prisoner because of public demand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“He’s probably been taken to an intern camp, and if that’s so, you may never see him again. Those places are deadly, Andi.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“An intern camp? Oh, George, I never thought that something like that existed, not on Earth.” Her voice rose, becoming shrill. “Things like this just don’t happen, not <i>here</i>, not <i>now</i>! This isn’t the twenty-first century. They can’t just come in and take a man away like…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>One hand went to her mouth, stifling whatever she had been going to say. She shook her head and closed her eyes. George didn’t argue. He just nodded in sad agreement, and they both sat in silence for a long time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Even after four world wars and two interplanetary ones, many people had no idea what happened to alien nationals during wartime, and many didn’t want to know. There were four internment camps, and only the Federation Marshals knew where they were. George had had the misfortune to be a guard at a camp during an earlier war. The memory of the things he had seen made him take refuge in the Valley when his enlistment was over. It had been years before he ventured from its safety again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>How could he help Tran? He was just an old Navajo. Though chosen <i>hataalii</i> to his people, to those Outside, he was simply an anachronism…like the Naturals themselves. What could he possibly do?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With sudden surprise, he knew. It had been hovering in his mind since he heard of Tran’s arrest, but would Andi accept it? Did he <i>want</i> her to accept it? He looked over at her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Andi, if Tran is in one of those camps, I…may…know someone who can help you. He could find out which one so you’d know who to get in touch with.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He tried to sound optimistic, and failed, his own doubt preventing him. It didn’t matter who she wrote or went to see. The UTF didn’t give up political prisoners, but at least it would keep her from feeling so helpless.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Who?” She looked up eagerly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sinbad.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“S-Sinbad?” An uncertain smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, as if he’d made a joke she didn’t quite understand. She stared at him. “But that’s just a fairytale. A story you used to tell me when I was little. Sinbad isn’t a real person.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Oh, this one’s real enough,” George assured her. “He’s Felidan, a smuggler--has his headquarters in Old Town.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“George! Where did you meet a smuggler?” Her smile was real this time. “Is there a side to you we don’t know about?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He shook his head and returned her smile. “Some of the natives of Felida have the <i>Eyes-that-Seek-the-Spirit</i>. When I heard there was a Felidan in Old Town, I went to see if he had the gift. It would've been a great help to me in ministering to our people.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Did he?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“No.” He shook his head again. “He’s a half-breed. His genetic heritage had diluted what little ability there was, but we kept in touch. I patched him up a couple of times when he got too close to the Coast Guard and needed a medic who'd keep quiet.” At Andi’s disapproving reaction to this statement, he shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “In a way, he’s a friend.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She was thoroughly attentive now. “And you think this…Sinbad…could help me? Why would he?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“He was in a prison camp once. If he can do anything to thwart the UTF, he will. He…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The teakettle’s high, shrill whistle was a welcome interruption. George stood up and quickly poured water into two cups, adding spoonfuls of herb tea and sweetener. Then, he brought the cups to the table with a flourish.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Here you are, blackberry tea with honey. Just the way you like it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi took the cup, sipping slowly, savoring the taste. When she was small and something went wrong—whether it was a skinned knee or bad grades in school—George always made it better with blackberry tea.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You’re so good to me, George. I think you’re the best friend I have.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He looked down at his cup. Praise always discomfited George. He stirred his tea with great attention. Andi took another sip. She looked better, he thought. There was more life in her eyes…and hope, too, but he was sorry his words had put it there. Abruptly, she set down her cup.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where can I find this Sinbad?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>George continued to stir his tea. Now, he was having second thoughts. It was dangerous to seek out a known criminal, especially for the purposes of obtaining classified information. He was urging Andi toward treason, and if she were caught--</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“George?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I heard you. Uh--just forget what I said.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Forget it?” She looked surprised. “But, George, if he can help…I mean, you said he doesn’t like the Federation…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Her voice trailed away at the look of concern he turned toward her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“He doesn’t. But he dislikes Terrans even more.” He reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. “He’s dangerous, Andi. He’s a criminal, and…I-I’m sorry I mentioned it. I don’t want you to have anything to do with Sinbad sh’en Singh.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Gently, she withdrew her hand from beneath his. He knew by the stubborn tilt of her chin that she’d made up her mind, and nothing he could say or do would change it. George’s heart sank.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where can I find him, George?” she asked quietly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b>***<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi paused at the swinging doors of the Asteroid Cantina. The building was a little better-looking than those surrounding it. At least, it had recently had a fresh coat of paint. From inside came the sounds of voices raised in laughter, a faint smattering of music, and the clinking of glasses.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Shifting her pack to the other shoulder, she placed one hand on the weather-beaten synthetic planking. Everything a Natural might need when away from the Valley was in that pack: money, a medicine bag filled with herbals to treat everything from headache to snakebite, and her identification card. She was never without the pack, and though there were no weapons inside, just having it with her made her feel safer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Go to the Blue Owl Café,” George had told her, reluctantly. “If Sinbad isn’t there, the bartender can tell you where to find him. And, please, be careful.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The bartender at the Blue Owl had directed her to the Asteroid Cantina with even more hesitation, and an ominous warning.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sinbad doesn‘t like Terrans, especially the women. He‘ll eat a little thing like you alive.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>At that, a blue-haired Abydian socializer sitting at the bar looked Andi up and down with heavily-painted eyes and snickered into her red beer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>"Be interesting to see how much is left of her after he gets through."</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>"Shut up, Saydee!" The bartender went back to polishing his glasses, shaking his head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi would have been startled if she could have heard his thoughts.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>She's such a pretty little thing. A lady, a</i> real <i>lady. What does a woman like this want with that Felidan smuggler</i>?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Now, thinking about the bartender’s warning, Andi looked around quickly. This wasn’t a place she’d like to be in late at night. She knew very little about Felidans—not even what they looked like—except that, 35 years before, their planet and Earth had been at war. The history books had generously said that the Felidans were ferocious fighters, but Terra cleverly brought the war into the Solar Sector where they were able to recuperate on the worlds of the Federation while the enemy forces, far from home, had no allies to aid them. In spite of this, they fought 11 bloody years before surrendering.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The Federation showed no mercy to its conquered enemies. All the adult males of the Royal House, and its commanding officers, were arrested and brought before a military court. Some were executed, some sentenced to life in military prisons scattered throughout the System. No occupying troops came to Felida, the planet was quarantined from outside communication as part of its punishment.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Bereft of their ruling family, the clans were in chaos, when the Pride chiefs stepped in. Within eight years, negotiations with their conquerors brought about the reinstating of a Felidan leader to the throne—though he was to remain a Terran figurehead for 10 more years—and the release and pardon of all the surviving members of the Warrior caste.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>And now, she was on her way to meet one of those men. Andi wondered if Sinbad had been an officer in the Felidan Pride. Though the idea of facing someone who had been a war-leader frightened her, it never occurred to her to abandon her plan. For Tran’s sake, she had to do what she could, even going into the Thieves’ Quarter at Old Town.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>Come on, Andi! Faint heart never freed imprisoned husband</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The room was dark and crowded, and there was a bluish haze in the air, mingled with a sweet, smoky smell. Trying to breathe without coughing, she started toward the bar, only to find her way blocked as a man walked in front of her. Quickly, she stepped back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Excuse me.” She tried to go around him, but he got in her way again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What’s yer hurry?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi looked up at him. His hair was long and clubbed at the nape of his neck, shipman’s-style, and he was wearing a uniform with a red insignia on the sleeve. She stiffened, then relaxed as she realized he was Merchant Marine…or at least, someone off a space freighter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I-I…I’m looking for someone.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She clutched the strap of the pack tighter and looked past him as if trying to determine which, of all the smoke-blurred faces in the room was the one she wanted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>”Ain’t me, is it?” He raised his glass, swallowing loudly, and leaned toward her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>A wave of whiskey-smell floated over her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Not unless you’re Sinbad sh’en Singh,” she snapped, and was startled to see him blink and take a step backward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sinbad! Well, if he’s the one yer looking fer, he’s here somewhere.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Jake can tell ya!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He stepped aside, but as Andi brushed past him, he called after her, “Whaddaya want with that Felidan, anyway? Ain’t Terrans good enough fer ya?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>At the bar, she had to wait several minutes before the bartender came down to where she had wedged herself between two men, ignoring the curious looks they gave her as they moved aside.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“E-excuse me…Sir?” He looked over at her and stopped, waiting for her to continue. “I’m here to see Sinbad. The bartender at the Blue Owl sent me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Jake—if that’s who he was—gave her a long, assessing stare, combined with a little surprise, before nodding to a table at the far side of the room. Following his glance, Andi saw two figures, one standing, the other seated in the shadows. With a smile of thanks, she hurried to the corner, dodging people, skirting tables and chairs until she was near enough to hear what they were saying. The standing man was dressed in typical dockworker clothing: a black pea jacket, dark jeans.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I’ll see ya at th’ shuttle dock tomorra, then.” The seated figure waved an acquiescent hand, as the other turned, nearly bumping into Andi who was standing behind him. "'Scuse me, Miss."</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He stepped aside and hurried toward the swinging doors. Quickly, she came up to the table, putting her hands on the back of the chair the man had vacated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“<i>Hosteen</i> Sh’en Singh?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Who’s askin’?” questioned a gruff voice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>It was hoarse and raspy, as if he was recovering from a bad chest cold. If he was surprised by her use of the Navajo word for <i>mister</i>, he didn't show it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“My name’s Andrea Talltrees,” she began. “Al at the Blue Owl sent me…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Yer a Milky, ain’t cha?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She was too startled to be insulted by that belittling nickname, derived from the name of Terra's galaxy, the Milky Way.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, yes, but what’s that…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Al knows I don’t like Earthers. Sorry, Sweets, ya won’t do.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I-I won’t?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>Do for what</i>? she wondered, feeling she’d doubly been insulted, and not really knowing why. He leaned back in the chair, tilting it against the wall, so that his upper body was hidden in the shadows, one knee-high boot braced against the side of the other chair. In the half light, she saw that he was wearing black leather trousers and a leather vest secured at the waist and neck with straps adorned with polished studs. His arms were bare, one hooked over the back of the chair, while the other rested against the tabletop, hands encased in short, black gloves. In the hollow of one shoulder, she could see a scarlet slash of a tattoo. There was a generous amount of bare chest and curly, coppery hair showing in the open front of the vest and Andi glanced away, studiously trying not to stare. Before she could say anything more, he reached into the pocket of the vest and produced a coin, flipping it across the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Here’s an <i>Eagle</i> fer yer trouble.” It spun around and came to rest near the edge of the table as the other hand waved imperiously. “Now, go away.” Andi stared at the coin. It was a gold piece, very old, with a flying bird engraved on one side. She’d never seen one like it. “Go back to Al,” the deep voice went on, “an’ tell him I want an Androsan.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Picking up the coin, she leaned forward, and taking one of his hands, carefully placed the <i>Eagle</i> on his palm, and closed the gloved fingers around it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I don’t want your money. I came here to talk to you and I’d appreciate it if you’d listen to what I have to say.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The hand opened. He looked at the coin, then at her, and returned it to his pocket.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“By all means. Go ahead.” There was a hint of laughter behind the roughness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She looked around. “I-is there somewhere we can talk…in private?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The hand gestured. “Step into m’ office, li’l lady.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Talltrees,” she told him quietly. “Andrea Talltrees.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Mistress Talltrees.” The shadowy head nodded, as if accepting her correction. “An’ speak yer piece.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi didn’t answer. Suddenly it seemed very warm, the smoke from the fuel lamps on each table combining with the body heat of the customers to make the room an uncomfortable contrast to the coolness outside. She tugged open the top two buttons of her jacket, and stood there, uncertain how to begin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You said Al sent you?” he prompted, leaning forward to take a slender black stick out of a holder on the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He picked up the little petrocandle, a pseudo-relic of an earlier era serving as a centerpiece, and touched the tip of the stick to the tiny flame. For an instant, she had a glimpse of long tawny hair and thick copper brows. Then, the light faded as he replaced the lamp and settled back. A thick cloud of smoke was blown in her direction. She coughed slightly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I-Is that a cigar?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. He took it out of his mouth and looked at it. She could see the glowing tip reflected in his eyes and that made her uneasy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Why, so it is.” There was mock surprise in the rasp. “Chock full o’ nicotine, carcinogens, carbon particles, an’ God knows how many other nasty things.” He shook his head. “My, my.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“But…but they’re illegal.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Tobacco was on the <i>List of Unlawful Substances</i> issued by the Surgeon General, was Number One, in fact. She flapped at the smoke with one hand, trying to fan it away. She felt a little dizzy; the smell of tobacco, whisky, and burning oil from the candle was overpowering.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Lady, I’m a smuggler.” The harsh voice was contemptuous. “I bring in fifty cases o’ these a week, an’ at eight hundred Credits a box, I can afford to let fifty real dollars’-worth go up in smoke.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“But they’re bad for your health.” It came out before she realized it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Don’t you worry about m’ health, li’l lady.” The voice was impatient. “You say ya got business with me? Then hurry up an’ state it. I came here t’ do some serious drinkin’ an’ yer interferin’ with m’ plans.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She peered into the dimness, trying to see his face. It was like looking at a shadow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Can’t we have a little more light? I can hardly see you.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>That brought a short growl of amusement. “So, you want t’ see me, do you? Jake!” The bartender looked in their direction. As did several others. “Bring a bigger lamp. Th’ li’l lady can’t see enough o’ me!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>There was a spout of laughter and a gabble of crude remarks as Jake, grinning broadly, hurried over with another lamp. He set it on the table, whisked away the smaller one, and Sinbad leaned forward, tilting the shade so that the brightness shone on his face like a spotlight.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“There! That better?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi stared at him. <i>Oh, my God</i>. Sitting before her was a cat in human form. His hair, the wildest, curliest stuff she had ever seen, was past shoulder length, a lion’s mane tamed by a leather headband, falling around tapered ears tufted with auburn fur, like those of a lynx she had seen near the chicken pen one Spring. From one nearly non-existent lobe dangled a thick gold ring. Heavy brows hung over jade-green eyes watching her with scornful amusement, slit pupils widened because of the low light in the room. He had high cheekbones and a long straight nose, a coppery Mandarin mustache drooping over a mouth in which the smoking cigar rested.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I think ya stared long enough.” One of the gloved hands flicked at the shade. “Either shut yer mouth an’ quit gapin’, or open it an’ tell me whatcha want.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Please, can’t we go somewhere else to talk?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a hiss, he stood up, six feet, eight inches of irritated Felidan, picking up the mug setting upon the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Hey, Jake!” Looking down at her, he took the cigar out of his mouth. “Can I borrow one o’ yer rooms fer a while?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sure! Take Number Three.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Bring me a pitcher, then.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He stalked away from the table, leaving her to run to keep up with his long-legged stride while the men’s laughter burned her ears. He pushed open the door and went in. Andi followed, closing it behind her. The little room was furnished with a table, two chairs, and a small bed against one wall, covered with surprisingly white sheets. Sinbad dropped into one of the chairs and motioned her toward the other.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“All right, we’re private. Now talk.” When she didn’t answer, he demanded. “Why did Al send <i>you</i>?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, he didn’t…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She dropped the pack into the chair. It was just as close here as in the outer room. She felt dizzy again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Then who in th’ name o’ God did? Is this some kinda joke?” He pushed back his chair, putting both feet on the table and stared at her, his scowl turning the heavy brows into a copper vee. “Listen, woman, I ain’t got much patience, an’ I’m fast losing what little I <i>do</i> have.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a deep breath, Andi said, in a rush, “George Windrider said you could help me,” and waited for his reaction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Indian George?” The harsh expression softened. “Well, what’s th’ problem George thinks I can fix?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I want you to find my husband. He’s…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I’m no <i>tracer</i>, lady. Ya need t’ go t’ th’ Federation’s <i>Missing Persons Section</i><u> </u>fer that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I can’t.” She leaned forward, hands on the table. “It’s the Federation who’s taken him. You see, he’s an Albegensi.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You sure know how t’ pick winners.” The cigar had gone out. He relit it from the lamp on the table, and leaned back to regard her, his green eyes speculative. In the bright light of Number Three, his pupils were narrow black crescents. “Don’t tell me, let me guess…since th’ whole world is afraid o’ th’ Big Bad Federation, an’ no one else’ll help, you want me t’ find out where they’re holdin’ him. Right?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She was sweating. She nodded and wiped her forehead with one hand. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“As a member of a group that has—no doubt foolishly—engaged in a military action against Terra, he’s probably been taken t’ th’ Black Mountain Reservation.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Black Mountain? But there’s nothing in that region.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks. There’s an internment camp there, very secret—an’ very deadly. Few prisoners ever come back from Black Mountain.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He seemed totally unconcerned of the effect his words might have on her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Can you help me?” she persisted, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, I could find out if he’s there. Is that <i>all</i> you want?” His tone indicated he considered her just short of insane to want to know where her husband was.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Yes,” she assured him. “Just find out where Tran is, and I’ll do the rest.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Tran. That his name?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She nodded. “Tran Day. He’s a farmer. He couldn’t possibly be a spy. The whole thing’s a stupid, stupid mistake.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“They all say that,” he replied, unsympathetically.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He fell silent and Andi stood there, gripping the back of the chair, squeezing the wood so hard her fingers hurt, waiting for him to go on. The silence grew longer and quieter, until she wanted to scream. His nostrils crinkled as if he had scented something.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>”Are you afraid o’ me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Should I be?” She was, terribly, but she’d never tell him so.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Maybe.” He fell quiet again, but just when she was ready to grab her pack and stalk out, he sat up, letting the legs of the chair strike the floor with a loud snap. “All right, I’ll do it, but it’ll cost.” The cigar, held in the gloved hand, pointed at her like a dagger, as the green eyes regarded her unwaveringly. “An’ I don’t think yer willin’ t’ pay th’ price.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“How much?” she asked. “Tell me. I’ll pay it. I love my husband.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You might not love him <i>that </i>much.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I’ll do anything to free him.” She flung the words recklessly. “What do you want?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The cigar stabbed at her again. “You.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What?” She hadn’t heard correctly. She couldn’t have. “W-what did you say?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Ya heard me. I want ya as m’ payment.” He blew a smoke ring into the air. “Yer good-looking’ fer a Milky. I like yer scent, even if ya have tried t’ hide it under that nauseatin’ perfume. Here’s m’ offer: stay with me tonight, an’ if I’m satisfied, I’ll find your mate fer ya.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She stared at him, stunned into disbelief. <i>This isn’t happening. This creature didn’t say that. He didn’t</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Look on it as a business arrangement. Ya gimme me what I want, I give ya what ya want.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “What say?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Wait just a minute.“ She startled herself by saying exactly what she was thinking. “W-what’s to stop you from just kicking me out after you…get what <i>you</i> want?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Good point.” His look indicated he was surprised she had thought of it. “Okay, we do it, an’ good or bad, ya get th’ location o’ th’ camp. Fair?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He leaned back again, studying the ash on the tip of his cigar before flicking it onto the floor. Waiting. Confident. Enjoying her indecision.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi’s thoughts were frantic. <i>Was this what George was warning me about? Oh, God, Tran, I love you, but I can’t do that. Not even for you</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Make up yer mind, Talltrees.” The raspy voice cut into her thoughts. “I ain’t got all day, an’ neither has yer mate.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>What am I going to do? He’s right. No one else is going to help me. They’re all too afraid. Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Tran will never know</i>. Her hands clenched into fists. <i>I-I’ll just pretend it never happened</i>. She forced her hands to relax, took a deep breath and tried to speak. She had to swallow twice before any sound would come out. Even then, it was a bare whisper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“A-all right.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Good!” He stubbed the cigar into the ashtray on the table. “Well? Go ahead…strip.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What? Here? Now?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He smiled, the light sparkling off long incisors, flashing a fanged leer. “Right. Here. <i>Now</i>. Th’ day ain‘t getting’ any younger, an’ there‘s an empty bed yonder just waitin’ t’ be used.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Mouth set in a determined line, she took off her jacket and dropped it into the chair. The hand-knit sweater had four buttons at the neck. She got them open and pulled it over her head. Underneath, she wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt. As she began to open the dozen, tiny buttons down its front, frowning in concentration, he gave an exasperated growl.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Good God! How many clothes’re ya wearin’? D’ ya think it’s winter?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“It’s still cold in the Valley,” she answered defensively, watching her hands.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it</i>. She got the shirt off and heard his groan as he saw the sleeveless undershirt. He was getting impatient, the gloved fingers tapping a loud tattoo on the tabletop. She was afraid he would walk out if she delayed any longer. Quickly, she pulled the tank top over her head and reached for the catch to her bandeau.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The door opened. Jake came in carrying a pitcher of beer, a blast of sound following him into the room. Gasping, Andi snatched at the undershirt and held it against her chest. Her chin quivered. Jake looked from her to Sinbad.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sorry, Sin. I-I didn’t think you’d be this far along.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The smuggler tapped the table with one finger. “Put it there, Jake. Thanks. Now, get out.” There was barely controlled anger in the low voice. The bartender did as he was told and hurried toward the door. “An’ Jake--” He paused and looked back. “Make certain we’re not bothered again.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Right. I’ll put up the <i>Do Not Disturb</i> sign.” He went out, slamming the door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a shaky sigh, Andi dropped the undershirt. She was dizzy again, feeling the way she had the day her horse ran under a tree and she had hit her head on a limb: lightheaded…sick. There was a roaring in her ears.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“We’ve wasted enough time, woman.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>A gloved hand reached for her and Andi went limp, falling without a sound into a crumpled heap at the smuggler’s feet.</p><p class="MsoNormal">TITLE:<span style=""> </span>The Adventures of Sinbad:<span style=""> </span>Sinbad's Last Voyage</p> <p class="MsoNormal">AUTHOR:<span style=""> </span>Toni V. Sweeney</p> <p class="MsoNormal">WEBSITE ADDRESS:<span style=""> </span>www.tonivsweeney.com</p> <p class="MsoNormal">WHERE TO BUY:<span style=""> </span>www.lulu.com</p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-87228709270204133362008-08-02T16:04:00.003-04:002008-08-02T16:39:47.127-04:00Bleach by David S. Grant<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SJS_60ukazI/AAAAAAAABcs/eCB9zkjS4xE/s1600-h/Bleach+Blackout+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SJS_60ukazI/AAAAAAAABcs/eCB9zkjS4xE/s320/Bleach+Blackout+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230016084591274802" border="0" /></a><br /><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Chapter 1 from BLACKOUT</p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">Sometimes the heat in Vegas has nothing to do with the temperature. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">There are seven of us in all and Stoner is already baked when we meet at the Bellagio. "Dude, it's my party." Chip doesn't have an excuse, already wobbling as he reaches the bar. It's three in the afternoon.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">We drink boilermakers and play poker at Bellagio, then play craps at Caesar's until the complimentary shots of Jim Beam are out, smoke crack behind TI, walk through MGM in two minutes, walk back over to TI and drink frozen mixers while smoking Kool cigarettes and commenting on the length of the waitresses' cocktail dresses, rent two Ferraris and drive to Crazy Horse Too, where we drop two grand on strippers (would have dropped four, but we get thrown out when Stoner's friend Jekyll bites Jasmine's nipple), total one of the Ferraris on the way to Olympic Gardens, leave the Ferrari, go into OG's and drop two more grand, eat sliders with mustard at a restaurant called Lucky Burger, and then smoke crack next to the lone Ferrari hidden behind the Lucky Burger dumpster.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">After sliders, we hop on a helicopter, take a loop around the city, finally landing near the Stratosphere, where we go to the top and drink Bacardi straight up with a slice of chocolate cake. Leave the chopper and walk to Stardust, drink red wine and smoke cigars and sing karaoke songs. Half an hour before midnight, we go to Circus Circus and take the elevator to the roof, where Chip has arranged for a Cambodian stripper to perform for Stoner. I walk over to the open bar, order a shot of dry gin, and then lean over the side of the roof and watch the city lights as midnight, the New Year, approaches. At midnight, the fireworks begin and I look over at Stoner and see that the Cambodian girl is now performing oral sex on him. Chip walks over and explains that she's only a stripper and that this is normal in her country. I turn back to the lights of the Vegas Strip as they shoot to the sky.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">"I know a place just off the Strip that has the best <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Thai.</st1:country-region></st1:place>" Chip puts his pipe back into his pocket. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">"Cool," someone says and we pile into the Ferrari and within minutes pull up to a two-star hotel and walk up to the second floor, where the Thai prostitutes are waiting for us and then after twenty minutes meet out in the hallway, where we all smoke Kool cigarettes and drink from a warm case of Miller that was left in the hallway by someone. Two guys decide to stay at the hotel with the girls and finish the case of Miller. "Ahaahaa, dude, that was fucking awesome," laughs Stoner as we pile back into the Ferrari and speed back over to the Strip and stop at the Paradise Club, where the strippers are doing a shower scene on stage and Chip works out a deal to get Stoner up on the stage, but he looks too stoned to remember and spends the whole time laughing hysterically. After the shower, the girls take Stoner backstage, where more laughter is heard, and a bill for one thousand dollars is handed to Chip. When Stoner comes out, he goes over to Chip and whispers something into his ear. Chip gets up and goes backstage, Stoner walks over to me and I'm high and I ask him if his soon-to-be bride knows what's going on tonight and he tells me that it doesn't matter because he's only marrying her for her trust fund and that when she finds out the wedding may be worse than Kill Bill. Chip returns with a smile on his face and says, "You're right, it was worth a thousand." At Perfect 10, I get lap dances from girls named Saw and Ginger, but my second dance is cut short when Chip interrupts and says we have to go because they are playing Kanye West music, which is just the same to me because Ginger isn't really into the dance, snorting cocaine while she's grinding on me.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">In Bikinis, three rounds of Manhattans are consumed and conversations about both grass skirts and whether or not Mariah Carey is still considered crazy are had. A girl named Anne begins talking with Stoner, but he can't stop laughing so she leaves. The grass skirt conversation carries over when we arrive at Coyote Ugly and begin drinking Old Fashions, even though we ordered gin, and Stoner dances on the bar until we are asked to leave. A joint is smoked inside the House of Blues while waiting for our Sidecars, which we slam in under a minute, and then at Rain, another joint is smoked instead of attempting to get drinks at the overcrowded bar. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">Ten minutes later in a club with "Aces" in the name we throw down double shots of dry gin and eat pretzels and then out of our minds all do the funky chicken on the dance floor. In the club we lose two of Stoner's friends and now we're down to three. Chip and I head to the blackjack tables and lose three hundred each and then drink more dry gin and Chip talks two porn stars into doing a show for Stoner, so we all go up to a room and watch the girls perform oral on each other for twenty minutes or so and then go to the Imperial Palace, where the owner knows Chip and lets us openly smoke hash in his lounge. We meet Nicolas Cage and Chip pitches his new reality show idea to him and Nic sounds interested as he sips a Heineken. They embrace and exchange contact information. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">Outside of the casino, Chip falls on his face and while Stoner and I are laughing two squatters help him up and then Chip starts talking to them and it turns out they were actors at one point so Chip gives them his card and asks them where's a good place for breakfast and the squatters both point across the street where we see the sign for Denny's. <o:p></o:p></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">At some point after plates of sausage and bacon we hook up with a guy named Earl who is driving the Ferrari with Stoner riding shotgun, a girl named Rose on his lap, and Chip passed out with sunglasses on in the back seat. I ask Earl what time it is and he tells me 4:30 a.m. then pulls out his crack pipe and that's the last thing I remember until I wake up the next morning in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city></st1:place> with a gun barrel stuck in my mouth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">TITLE: Bleach/Blackout<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">AUTHOR: David S. Grant<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;">WEBSITE ADDRESS: <a href="http://www.davidsgrant.com/">www.davidsgrant.com</a> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="color:black;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >WHERE TO BUY: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/">www.Amazon.com</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-49169596261519225282008-07-27T21:49:00.000-04:002008-07-27T21:53:17.610-04:00Sinbad's Last Voyage by Toni Sweeney<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SI0mSEzW6wI/AAAAAAAABcA/3-7WJhe7V9Q/s1600-h/sinbad-510.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SI0mSEzW6wI/AAAAAAAABcA/3-7WJhe7V9Q/s320/sinbad-510.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227876834415667970" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal">TITLE:<span style=""> </span>The Adventures of Sinbad:<span style=""> </span>Sinbad's Last Voyage</p> <p class="MsoNormal">AUTHOR:<span style=""> </span>Toni V. Sweeney</p> <p class="MsoNormal">WEBSITE ADDRESS:<span style=""> </span>www.tonivsweeney.com</p> <p class="MsoNormal">WHERE TO BUY:<span style=""> </span>www.lulu.com</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">THE FIRST CHAPTER:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">CHAPTER ONE</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Indian George kicked the big sorrel into a grudging gallop. The animal was old and fat and didn’t like to run, much less travel along a mud-rutted dirt road. A slow, drag-hoofed amble was its preferred speed. <i>He should have taken the Jeep</i>. It was rusty and antiquated, but it would have gotten him to his destination quicker. Like most Naturals, however, George never used the vehicle if he could keep from doing so.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The Jeep was for long distances and emergencies, and while this was an emergency, the Talltrees’ farm was next door to his and the sorrel could take the road much easier than an ancient contraption like George’s automobile, with its primitive internal combustion engine. Its wheels—that actually <i>touched</i> the ground—would hit every pothole and dip in sight. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He gave the sorrel’s withers a slap with his hand.<span style=""> </span>“Git, you nag! Or it’s the processing plant for you.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The sorrel didn’t move a bit faster, as if aware that horses were an <i>Endangered Domestic Species </i>and knew it was totally safe. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Only an hour earlier, George had heard of Tran’s arrest. In the three days since an Albegensian warship had fired upon a Terran deep-space freighter, blasting it to micro-particles with all hands on board, all Albegensi in Earth residence were being taken into custody and detained for questioning in accordance with <i>Standard Procedure</i> in times of <i>Global Martial Emergency</i>. Tran had been one of the unfortunates.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>George was old enough to have lived through two wars between Earth and its neighbors and he was aware of what might happen to Tran now, and he knew none of it would be pleasant. At the moment, however, his concern was for the welfare of Tran’s wife and son who were alone at the farm. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He turned the sorrel’s head, guiding it through the gate, and pulled it to a stiff-legged and grateful halt in front of the house. The animal snorted and stretched its neck against the reins, attempting to reach the short grass growing in the front yard, to make up for the meal it had been forced to miss by taking its owner on this sudden trip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The Talltrees’ home was a small wooden building, every plank and nail placed by hand over 100 years before by Ramon Talltrees, great-grandfather of Tran’s wife, Andrea. Like the other inhabitants of the Valley, Ramon had been a Natural, choosing to live as his ancestors had centuries before, with as few contemporary conveniences—and their accompanying pollution—as possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>On the top step of the porch sat a boy, arms resting against his knees. He was slim and dark. At first glance, he might have been mistaken for one of George’s people, but the blue-black sheen to his braided hair as well as the slight slant to his brown eyes marked him as Albegensi—Tran’s 14-year-old son, Acashi, suddenly finding himself head of the house and in charge of the farm. He didn’t look up as George scrambled off the sorrel’s back and dropped the reins, but stared listlessly across the field beyond the fence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Leaving the sorrel munching on Andrea’s daisies, George looked up at the boy.<span style=""> </span>“Cash?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He had to call twice before Cash turned from his contemplation of the field. There was a hopelessness in the young face that made the old man want to cry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where’s your mother?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“She’s inside,” the boy said, gesturing behind him. As George started up the steps, he reached out and caught the old man’s arm. “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t eaten since they took Dad away.” He was holding an oak leaf, and began to shred it into strips as he spoke. “She just sits there. I practically had to carry her upstairs to sleep.” He threw the pieces of leaf to the ground and looked across the field again, tears in the voice but they wouldn’t show in the eyes. Tran’s son wouldn’t allow that. “I-I’m scared. I’ve lost Dad--I don’t want to lose her, too.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The old man patted the boy’s shoulder and went through the front door. Though the Naturals’ teachings allowed the use of electricity, it was not the solar power utilized by the rest of the world, but the hydroelectric kind supplied by a small generating plant set on the falls of the river that wandered through the Valley. Fuel lamps were the usual mode of illumination, although no one had turned on the lights. It was so dim inside George thought the room was empty. Then, he saw Andi, sitting beside the fireplace.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The room was cold for an April day, but no fire had been laid. She was in the old rocker—handmade, like the rest of the furniture—staring into the emptiness of the hearth. She didn’t look up as George came in, didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Huddled in the rocker, hands clutched against her chest, she sat blank-eyed, like someone’s ancient grandmother. Only one hand moved, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. She was wearing a sweater, a long skirt, and knee-high suede boots—all handmade, all products of the farm. Her hair, thick and honey-yellow, hung in a single braid over one shoulder.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Seeing her tear-stained blondness, George once again marveled that she was mother to the dark-haired, dark-eyed child who sat on the front steps. <i>She looks so young</i>, he thought. Like Cash’s older sister, not his mother.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Andi?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She didn’t move, but when he got nearer, she spoke in a low monotone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“They took him away, George. Arrested him on ‘suspicion’—what does that mean? Suspicion of <i>what</i>?” When she looked at the old Navajo, her eyes were bleak with despair, lashes wet with the tears that Cash wouldn’t shed. “How could they think Tran’s a spy? It’s preposterous!” She shook her head and turned to stare at the hearth again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Come on.” George put his arms around her, pulling her to her feet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where are we going?” she asked, mildly protesting being moved, and clutched at his hands for support.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“To the kitchen.” He steered her through the open doorway at the back of the room and pushed her toward the trestle table. “Cash says you haven’t eaten. That isn’t going to do anyone any good.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She sat at the table while he put the kettle on to boil. Luckily, Cash had stoked the cast-iron stove earlier, and it was still hot. George added another log and turned to look at Andi. She was pale, as dazed as someone abandoned, and he didn’t like it. The Andi he knew was a feisty little thing, who could lick all of her 110 pounds in wildcats, and took no guff from anyone. This docile, apathetic creature was totally unlike her. She was in shock, he decided. Turning back to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What will you do, Andi?” he asked, thinking frantically of something to say, anything to get her talking and take that lost look from her face.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Do? I…” She looked across the table at him. “George, I don’t know. What <i>can</i> I do?” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “If I knew where Tran was taken, maybe I could petition the local headquarters, get affidavits from our neighbors saying he’s no spy, somehow get him released, but I don’t even know where he is.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>George had a good idea where Tran was, but he hated to tell her. He also knew she had little chance of freeing her husband on the strength of some names written on a paper, even if she was lucky enough to find anyone unafraid of signing it. Only two times in the past 300 years had the United Terran Federation relinquished a prisoner because of public demand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“He’s probably been taken to an intern camp, and if that’s so, you may never see him again. Those places are deadly, Andi.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“An intern camp? Oh, George, I never thought that something like that existed, not on Earth.” Her voice rose, becoming shrill. “Things like this just don’t happen, not <i>here</i>, not <i>now</i>! This isn’t the twenty-first century. They can’t just come in and take a man away like…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>One hand went to her mouth, stifling whatever she had been going to say. She shook her head and closed her eyes. George didn’t argue. He just nodded in sad agreement, and they both sat in silence for a long time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Even after four world wars and two interplanetary ones, many people had no idea what happened to alien nationals during wartime, and many didn’t want to know. There were four internment camps, and only the Federation Marshals knew where they were. George had had the misfortune to be a guard at a camp during an earlier war. The memory of the things he had seen made him take refuge in the Valley when his enlistment was over. It had been years before he ventured from its safety again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>How could he help Tran? He was just an old Navajo. Though chosen <i>hataalii</i> to his people, to those Outside, he was simply an anachronism…like the Naturals themselves. What could he possibly do?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With sudden surprise, he knew. It had been hovering in his mind since he heard of Tran’s arrest, but would Andi accept it? Did he <i>want</i> her to accept it? He looked over at her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Andi, if Tran is in one of those camps, I…may…know someone who can help you. He could find out which one so you’d know who to get in touch with.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He tried to sound optimistic, and failed, his own doubt preventing him. It didn’t matter who she wrote or went to see. The UTF didn’t give up political prisoners, but at least it would keep her from feeling so helpless.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Who?” She looked up eagerly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sinbad.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“S-Sinbad?” An uncertain smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, as if he’d made a joke she didn’t quite understand. She stared at him. “But that’s just a fairytale. A story you used to tell me when I was little. Sinbad isn’t a real person.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Oh, this one’s real enough,” George assured her. “He’s Felidan, a smuggler--has his headquarters in Old Town.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“George! Where did you meet a smuggler?” Her smile was real this time. “Is there a side to you we don’t know about?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He shook his head and returned her smile. “Some of the natives of Felida have the <i>Eyes-that-Seek-the-Spirit</i>. When I heard there was a Felidan in Old Town, I went to see if he had the gift. It would've been a great help to me in ministering to our people.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Did he?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“No.” He shook his head again. “He’s a half-breed. His genetic heritage had diluted what little ability there was, but we kept in touch. I patched him up a couple of times when he got too close to the Coast Guard and needed a medic who'd keep quiet.” At Andi’s disapproving reaction to this statement, he shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “In a way, he’s a friend.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She was thoroughly attentive now. “And you think this…Sinbad…could help me? Why would he?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“He was in a prison camp once. If he can do anything to thwart the UTF, he will. He…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The teakettle’s high, shrill whistle was a welcome interruption. George stood up and quickly poured water into two cups, adding spoonfuls of herb tea and sweetener. Then, he brought the cups to the table with a flourish.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Here you are, blackberry tea with honey. Just the way you like it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi took the cup, sipping slowly, savoring the taste. When she was small and something went wrong—whether it was a skinned knee or bad grades in school—George always made it better with blackberry tea.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You’re so good to me, George. I think you’re the best friend I have.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He looked down at his cup. Praise always discomfited George. He stirred his tea with great attention. Andi took another sip. She looked better, he thought. There was more life in her eyes…and hope, too, but he was sorry his words had put it there. Abruptly, she set down her cup.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where can I find this Sinbad?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>George continued to stir his tea. Now, he was having second thoughts. It was dangerous to seek out a known criminal, especially for the purposes of obtaining classified information. He was urging Andi toward treason, and if she were caught--</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“George?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I heard you. Uh--just forget what I said.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Forget it?” She looked surprised. “But, George, if he can help…I mean, you said he doesn’t like the Federation…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Her voice trailed away at the look of concern he turned toward her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“He doesn’t. But he dislikes Terrans even more.” He reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. “He’s dangerous, Andi. He’s a criminal, and…I-I’m sorry I mentioned it. I don’t want you to have anything to do with Sinbad sh’en Singh.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Gently, she withdrew her hand from beneath his. He knew by the stubborn tilt of her chin that she’d made up her mind, and nothing he could say or do would change it. George’s heart sank.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Where can I find him, George?” she asked quietly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b>***<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi paused at the swinging doors of the Asteroid Cantina. The building was a little better-looking than those surrounding it. At least, it had recently had a fresh coat of paint. From inside came the sounds of voices raised in laughter, a faint smattering of music, and the clinking of glasses.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Shifting her pack to the other shoulder, she placed one hand on the weather-beaten synthetic planking. Everything a Natural might need when away from the Valley was in that pack: money, a medicine bag filled with herbals to treat everything from headache to snakebite, and her identification card. She was never without the pack, and though there were no weapons inside, just having it with her made her feel safer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Go to the Blue Owl Café,” George had told her, reluctantly. “If Sinbad isn’t there, the bartender can tell you where to find him. And, please, be careful.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The bartender at the Blue Owl had directed her to the Asteroid Cantina with even more hesitation, and an ominous warning.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sinbad doesn‘t like Terrans, especially the women. He‘ll eat a little thing like you alive.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>At that, a blue-haired Abydian socializer sitting at the bar looked Andi up and down with heavily-painted eyes and snickered into her red beer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>"Be interesting to see how much is left of her after he gets through."</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>"Shut up, Saydee!" The bartender went back to polishing his glasses, shaking his head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi would have been startled if she could have heard his thoughts.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>She's such a pretty little thing. A lady, a</i> real <i>lady. What does a woman like this want with that Felidan smuggler</i>?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Now, thinking about the bartender’s warning, Andi looked around quickly. This wasn’t a place she’d like to be in late at night. She knew very little about Felidans—not even what they looked like—except that, 35 years before, their planet and Earth had been at war. The history books had generously said that the Felidans were ferocious fighters, but Terra cleverly brought the war into the Solar Sector where they were able to recuperate on the worlds of the Federation while the enemy forces, far from home, had no allies to aid them. In spite of this, they fought 11 bloody years before surrendering.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The Federation showed no mercy to its conquered enemies. All the adult males of the Royal House, and its commanding officers, were arrested and brought before a military court. Some were executed, some sentenced to life in military prisons scattered throughout the System. No occupying troops came to Felida, the planet was quarantined from outside communication as part of its punishment.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Bereft of their ruling family, the clans were in chaos, when the Pride chiefs stepped in. Within eight years, negotiations with their conquerors brought about the reinstating of a Felidan leader to the throne—though he was to remain a Terran figurehead for 10 more years—and the release and pardon of all the surviving members of the Warrior caste.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>And now, she was on her way to meet one of those men. Andi wondered if Sinbad had been an officer in the Felidan Pride. Though the idea of facing someone who had been a war-leader frightened her, it never occurred to her to abandon her plan. For Tran’s sake, she had to do what she could, even going into the Thieves’ Quarter at Old Town.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>Come on, Andi! Faint heart never freed imprisoned husband</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The room was dark and crowded, and there was a bluish haze in the air, mingled with a sweet, smoky smell. Trying to breathe without coughing, she started toward the bar, only to find her way blocked as a man walked in front of her. Quickly, she stepped back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Excuse me.” She tried to go around him, but he got in her way again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What’s yer hurry?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi looked up at him. His hair was long and clubbed at the nape of his neck, shipman’s-style, and he was wearing a uniform with a red insignia on the sleeve. She stiffened, then relaxed as she realized he was Merchant Marine…or at least, someone off a space freighter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I-I…I’m looking for someone.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She clutched the strap of the pack tighter and looked past him as if trying to determine which, of all the smoke-blurred faces in the room was the one she wanted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>”Ain’t me, is it?” He raised his glass, swallowing loudly, and leaned toward her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>A wave of whiskey-smell floated over her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Not unless you’re Sinbad sh’en Singh,” she snapped, and was startled to see him blink and take a step backward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sinbad! Well, if he’s the one yer looking fer, he’s here somewhere.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Jake can tell ya!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He stepped aside, but as Andi brushed past him, he called after her, “Whaddaya want with that Felidan, anyway? Ain’t Terrans good enough fer ya?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>At the bar, she had to wait several minutes before the bartender came down to where she had wedged herself between two men, ignoring the curious looks they gave her as they moved aside.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“E-excuse me…Sir?” He looked over at her and stopped, waiting for her to continue. “I’m here to see Sinbad. The bartender at the Blue Owl sent me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Jake—if that’s who he was—gave her a long, assessing stare, combined with a little surprise, before nodding to a table at the far side of the room. Following his glance, Andi saw two figures, one standing, the other seated in the shadows. With a smile of thanks, she hurried to the corner, dodging people, skirting tables and chairs until she was near enough to hear what they were saying. The standing man was dressed in typical dockworker clothing: a black pea jacket, dark jeans.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I’ll see ya at th’ shuttle dock tomorra, then.” The seated figure waved an acquiescent hand, as the other turned, nearly bumping into Andi who was standing behind him. "'Scuse me, Miss."</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He stepped aside and hurried toward the swinging doors. Quickly, she came up to the table, putting her hands on the back of the chair the man had vacated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“<i>Hosteen</i> Sh’en Singh?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Who’s askin’?” questioned a gruff voice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>It was hoarse and raspy, as if he was recovering from a bad chest cold. If he was surprised by her use of the Navajo word for <i>mister</i>, he didn't show it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“My name’s Andrea Talltrees,” she began. “Al at the Blue Owl sent me…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Yer a Milky, ain’t cha?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She was too startled to be insulted by that belittling nickname, derived from the name of Terra's galaxy, the Milky Way.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, yes, but what’s that…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Al knows I don’t like Earthers. Sorry, Sweets, ya won’t do.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I-I won’t?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>Do for what</i>? she wondered, feeling she’d doubly been insulted, and not really knowing why. He leaned back in the chair, tilting it against the wall, so that his upper body was hidden in the shadows, one knee-high boot braced against the side of the other chair. In the half light, she saw that he was wearing black leather trousers and a leather vest secured at the waist and neck with straps adorned with polished studs. His arms were bare, one hooked over the back of the chair, while the other rested against the tabletop, hands encased in short, black gloves. In the hollow of one shoulder, she could see a scarlet slash of a tattoo. There was a generous amount of bare chest and curly, coppery hair showing in the open front of the vest and Andi glanced away, studiously trying not to stare. Before she could say anything more, he reached into the pocket of the vest and produced a coin, flipping it across the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Here’s an <i>Eagle</i> fer yer trouble.” It spun around and came to rest near the edge of the table as the other hand waved imperiously. “Now, go away.” Andi stared at the coin. It was a gold piece, very old, with a flying bird engraved on one side. She’d never seen one like it. “Go back to Al,” the deep voice went on, “an’ tell him I want an Androsan.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Picking up the coin, she leaned forward, and taking one of his hands, carefully placed the <i>Eagle</i> on his palm, and closed the gloved fingers around it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I don’t want your money. I came here to talk to you and I’d appreciate it if you’d listen to what I have to say.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The hand opened. He looked at the coin, then at her, and returned it to his pocket.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“By all means. Go ahead.” There was a hint of laughter behind the roughness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She looked around. “I-is there somewhere we can talk…in private?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The hand gestured. “Step into m’ office, li’l lady.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Talltrees,” she told him quietly. “Andrea Talltrees.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Mistress Talltrees.” The shadowy head nodded, as if accepting her correction. “An’ speak yer piece.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi didn’t answer. Suddenly it seemed very warm, the smoke from the fuel lamps on each table combining with the body heat of the customers to make the room an uncomfortable contrast to the coolness outside. She tugged open the top two buttons of her jacket, and stood there, uncertain how to begin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You said Al sent you?” he prompted, leaning forward to take a slender black stick out of a holder on the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He picked up the little petrocandle, a pseudo-relic of an earlier era serving as a centerpiece, and touched the tip of the stick to the tiny flame. For an instant, she had a glimpse of long tawny hair and thick copper brows. Then, the light faded as he replaced the lamp and settled back. A thick cloud of smoke was blown in her direction. She coughed slightly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I-Is that a cigar?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. He took it out of his mouth and looked at it. She could see the glowing tip reflected in his eyes and that made her uneasy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Why, so it is.” There was mock surprise in the rasp. “Chock full o’ nicotine, carcinogens, carbon particles, an’ God knows how many other nasty things.” He shook his head. “My, my.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“But…but they’re illegal.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Tobacco was on the <i>List of Unlawful Substances</i> issued by the Surgeon General, was Number One, in fact. She flapped at the smoke with one hand, trying to fan it away. She felt a little dizzy; the smell of tobacco, whisky, and burning oil from the candle was overpowering.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Lady, I’m a smuggler.” The harsh voice was contemptuous. “I bring in fifty cases o’ these a week, an’ at eight hundred Credits a box, I can afford to let fifty real dollars’-worth go up in smoke.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“But they’re bad for your health.” It came out before she realized it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Don’t you worry about m’ health, li’l lady.” The voice was impatient. “You say ya got business with me? Then hurry up an’ state it. I came here t’ do some serious drinkin’ an’ yer interferin’ with m’ plans.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She peered into the dimness, trying to see his face. It was like looking at a shadow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Can’t we have a little more light? I can hardly see you.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>That brought a short growl of amusement. “So, you want t’ see me, do you? Jake!” The bartender looked in their direction. As did several others. “Bring a bigger lamp. Th’ li’l lady can’t see enough o’ me!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>There was a spout of laughter and a gabble of crude remarks as Jake, grinning broadly, hurried over with another lamp. He set it on the table, whisked away the smaller one, and Sinbad leaned forward, tilting the shade so that the brightness shone on his face like a spotlight.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“There! That better?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi stared at him. <i>Oh, my God</i>. Sitting before her was a cat in human form. His hair, the wildest, curliest stuff she had ever seen, was past shoulder length, a lion’s mane tamed by a leather headband, falling around tapered ears tufted with auburn fur, like those of a lynx she had seen near the chicken pen one Spring. From one nearly non-existent lobe dangled a thick gold ring. Heavy brows hung over jade-green eyes watching her with scornful amusement, slit pupils widened because of the low light in the room. He had high cheekbones and a long straight nose, a coppery Mandarin mustache drooping over a mouth in which the smoking cigar rested.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I think ya stared long enough.” One of the gloved hands flicked at the shade. “Either shut yer mouth an’ quit gapin’, or open it an’ tell me whatcha want.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Please, can’t we go somewhere else to talk?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a hiss, he stood up, six feet, eight inches of irritated Felidan, picking up the mug setting upon the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Hey, Jake!” Looking down at her, he took the cigar out of his mouth. “Can I borrow one o’ yer rooms fer a while?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sure! Take Number Three.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Bring me a pitcher, then.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He stalked away from the table, leaving her to run to keep up with his long-legged stride while the men’s laughter burned her ears. He pushed open the door and went in. Andi followed, closing it behind her. The little room was furnished with a table, two chairs, and a small bed against one wall, covered with surprisingly white sheets. Sinbad dropped into one of the chairs and motioned her toward the other.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“All right, we’re private. Now talk.” When she didn’t answer, he demanded. “Why did Al send <i>you</i>?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, he didn’t…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She dropped the pack into the chair. It was just as close here as in the outer room. She felt dizzy again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Then who in th’ name o’ God did? Is this some kinda joke?” He pushed back his chair, putting both feet on the table and stared at her, his scowl turning the heavy brows into a copper vee. “Listen, woman, I ain’t got much patience, an’ I’m fast losing what little I <i>do</i> have.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a deep breath, Andi said, in a rush, “George Windrider said you could help me,” and waited for his reaction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Indian George?” The harsh expression softened. “Well, what’s th’ problem George thinks I can fix?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I want you to find my husband. He’s…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I’m no <i>tracer</i>, lady. Ya need t’ go t’ th’ Federation’s <i>Missing Persons Section</i><u> </u>fer that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I can’t.” She leaned forward, hands on the table. “It’s the Federation who’s taken him. You see, he’s an Albegensi.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You sure know how t’ pick winners.” The cigar had gone out. He relit it from the lamp on the table, and leaned back to regard her, his green eyes speculative. In the bright light of Number Three, his pupils were narrow black crescents. “Don’t tell me, let me guess…since th’ whole world is afraid o’ th’ Big Bad Federation, an’ no one else’ll help, you want me t’ find out where they’re holdin’ him. Right?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She was sweating. She nodded and wiped her forehead with one hand. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“As a member of a group that has—no doubt foolishly—engaged in a military action against Terra, he’s probably been taken t’ th’ Black Mountain Reservation.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Black Mountain? But there’s nothing in that region.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks. There’s an internment camp there, very secret—an’ very deadly. Few prisoners ever come back from Black Mountain.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He seemed totally unconcerned of the effect his words might have on her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Can you help me?” she persisted, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Well, I could find out if he’s there. Is that <i>all</i> you want?” His tone indicated he considered her just short of insane to want to know where her husband was.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Yes,” she assured him. “Just find out where Tran is, and I’ll do the rest.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Tran. That his name?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She nodded. “Tran Day. He’s a farmer. He couldn’t possibly be a spy. The whole thing’s a stupid, stupid mistake.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“They all say that,” he replied, unsympathetically.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He fell silent and Andi stood there, gripping the back of the chair, squeezing the wood so hard her fingers hurt, waiting for him to go on. The silence grew longer and quieter, until she wanted to scream. His nostrils crinkled as if he had scented something.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>”Are you afraid o’ me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Should I be?” She was, terribly, but she’d never tell him so.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Maybe.” He fell quiet again, but just when she was ready to grab her pack and stalk out, he sat up, letting the legs of the chair strike the floor with a loud snap. “All right, I’ll do it, but it’ll cost.” The cigar, held in the gloved hand, pointed at her like a dagger, as the green eyes regarded her unwaveringly. “An’ I don’t think yer willin’ t’ pay th’ price.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“How much?” she asked. “Tell me. I’ll pay it. I love my husband.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“You might not love him <i>that </i>much.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“I’ll do anything to free him.” She flung the words recklessly. “What do you want?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The cigar stabbed at her again. “You.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What?” She hadn’t heard correctly. She couldn’t have. “W-what did you say?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Ya heard me. I want ya as m’ payment.” He blew a smoke ring into the air. “Yer good-looking’ fer a Milky. I like yer scent, even if ya have tried t’ hide it under that nauseatin’ perfume. Here’s m’ offer: stay with me tonight, an’ if I’m satisfied, I’ll find your mate fer ya.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>She stared at him, stunned into disbelief. <i>This isn’t happening. This creature didn’t say that. He didn’t</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Look on it as a business arrangement. Ya gimme me what I want, I give ya what ya want.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “What say?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Wait just a minute.“ She startled herself by saying exactly what she was thinking. “W-what’s to stop you from just kicking me out after you…get what <i>you</i> want?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Good point.” His look indicated he was surprised she had thought of it. “Okay, we do it, an’ good or bad, ya get th’ location o’ th’ camp. Fair?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He leaned back again, studying the ash on the tip of his cigar before flicking it onto the floor. Waiting. Confident. Enjoying her indecision.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Andi’s thoughts were frantic. <i>Was this what George was warning me about? Oh, God, Tran, I love you, but I can’t do that. Not even for you</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Make up yer mind, Talltrees.” The raspy voice cut into her thoughts. “I ain’t got all day, an’ neither has yer mate.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>What am I going to do? He’s right. No one else is going to help me. They’re all too afraid. Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Tran will never know</i>. Her hands clenched into fists. <i>I-I’ll just pretend it never happened</i>. She forced her hands to relax, took a deep breath and tried to speak. She had to swallow twice before any sound would come out. Even then, it was a bare whisper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“A-all right.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Good!” He stubbed the cigar into the ashtray on the table. “Well? Go ahead…strip.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“What? Here? Now?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>He smiled, the light sparkling off long incisors, flashing a fanged leer. “Right. Here. <i>Now</i>. Th’ day ain‘t getting’ any younger, an’ there‘s an empty bed yonder just waitin’ t’ be used.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>Mouth set in a determined line, she took off her jacket and dropped it into the chair. The hand-knit sweater had four buttons at the neck. She got them open and pulled it over her head. Underneath, she wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt. As she began to open the dozen, tiny buttons down its front, frowning in concentration, he gave an exasperated growl.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Good God! How many clothes’re ya wearin’? D’ ya think it’s winter?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“It’s still cold in the Valley,” she answered defensively, watching her hands.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span><i>Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it</i>. She got the shirt off and heard his groan as he saw the sleeveless undershirt. He was getting impatient, the gloved fingers tapping a loud tattoo on the tabletop. She was afraid he would walk out if she delayed any longer. Quickly, she pulled the tank top over her head and reached for the catch to her bandeau.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The door opened. Jake came in carrying a pitcher of beer, a blast of sound following him into the room. Gasping, Andi snatched at the undershirt and held it against her chest. Her chin quivered. Jake looked from her to Sinbad.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Sorry, Sin. I-I didn’t think you’d be this far along.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>The smuggler tapped the table with one finger. “Put it there, Jake. Thanks. Now, get out.” There was barely controlled anger in the low voice. The bartender did as he was told and hurried toward the door. “An’ Jake--” He paused and looked back. “Make certain we’re not bothered again.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“Right. I’ll put up the <i>Do Not Disturb</i> sign.” He went out, slamming the door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>With a shaky sigh, Andi dropped the undershirt. She was dizzy again, feeling the way she had the day her horse ran under a tree and she had hit her head on a limb: lightheaded…sick. There was a roaring in her ears.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span>“We’ve wasted enough time, woman.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>A gloved hand reached for her and Andi went limp, falling without a sound into a crumpled heap at the smuggler’s feet.</p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6262589702273570912.post-30768887620053746252008-07-06T20:57:00.002-04:002008-07-07T21:34:35.791-04:00The Huntsmen 2: Backtrack by Amber Green<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SHLECVJumtI/AAAAAAAABWA/UAj6aL3xuKo/s1600-h/AG_Backtrack_coverin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_l-gSRz9BTzU/SHLECVJumtI/AAAAAAAABWA/UAj6aL3xuKo/s320/AG_Backtrack_coverin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220450462392556242" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Title: The Huntsmen 2: Backtrack<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Author name: Amber Green<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Website address:<span style=""> </span>www.Shapeshiftersinlust.com<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="margin-top: 0in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Title: The Huntsmen: Backtrack<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Author name: Amber Green<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Website address:<span style=""> </span>www.Shapeshiftersinlust.com<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Buy link:</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">http://loose-id.com/detail.aspx?ID=734</span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" ><br /></span></i></span></p><p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" ><br /></span></i></span></p><p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" >May 7, 1984 <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;color:black;" >Sugar woke before dawn, hearing sirens doppler into the distance as if headed back into the dream that had ejected her. She stared at the cracked ceiling, lost, and then remembered to look at the city map taped to the wall by the bed. Tampa. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;color:black;" >If this is Tampa, my name is Taylor. First name, Sarah. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >And, dammit, it was time to move on. Find a new identity, a new room to rent, a new job that would pay enough so she could send something worthwhile toward Joe’s support. The process had become all too familiar in the three years since she’d stood in that oak-paneled meeting room, watching the judge tap cigarette ash into a Co-Cola bottle, hearing a radio drone on about the wedding gown Lady Diana was wearing today, and hearing her own voice like a stranger’s, agreeing to testify against Digger and his goons. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >But then the feds had proven equally inept with their so-called witness protection program and their ability to keep Digger behind bars pending trial. So when he ran, she’d had to run. And keep running, although he probably had condos all over the country in addition to a land yacht of a luxury bus bigger than her current home. Digger had a thing about being clean, and a thing about being comfortable. Clean was usually the best Sugar could hope for. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >One good thing about moving on -- just before leaving was the time to contact Joe. “Mom!” he always whispered. “You’re okay!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >That call was never enough. But it was worth living for, and therefore worth waiting for. Couldn’t call now, no matter how badly she wanted to hear his voice. Couldn’t call until she had everything lined up for her next metamorphosis. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She scratched absently at the hollows in her forearms, where the knives she wore under her sleeves had made homes for themselves. These impressions might stay in place long after the knives were gone; she still had a hollow around the base of her ring finger to match the wedding band she’d once worn. That band had gone for…she stretched slowly, all over…forty bucks. Yeah, twenty-six dollars to buy Joe’s bus ticket to safety, and the rest for burgers along the way. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Best forty bucks she’d ever spent. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The driving need to make contact wasn’t a good enough reason to give up an identity, especially here where the pay was so good, but other concerns gnawed at her. One was the fact she was too close to home, to the three-stoplight town where she’d grown up, and where she’d finally sent Joe to hide. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Two was the time span. She’d been here four months. Twice now, Digger had found her trail in less time. Four months and this close to home was pushing her luck on two sides at once. Couldn’t do that. Whatever measure of luck she’d been born with, she’d long ago burned through it. This was supposed to have been a brief stop to pump up her finances with the identity of a lady she actually knew, a retired physical therapist, but she’d gotten sidetracked. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >And that was three: the kicker. She’d lost her marbles. Gone gaga over a patient.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She’d done physical therapy in about half her identities, but had never, ever fallen for a patient. Not until last month, when she’d walked into the room where Marco was fooling with the grip gauge and they’d both stopped dead and stared at one another. Neither had moved, and might not have breathed, until she’d finally found her voice and said, “Excuse me, but this room is for pediatric patients.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He’d blushed, all schoolboy. One of those boys who got a man’s face and a man’s size when, poor things, they were just adolescents inside. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Jailbait. That’s the operative word.</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" > <i>Worse than an entanglement, and getting entangled in other people’s lives is how you get caught</i>. That dark, intent stare felt like a man’s appreciation, but it was really only a boy’s puppy crush. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She stretched again. <i>Might as well get up now.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="AsteriskBreak"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >* * * * * <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Fort stretched out on the weather-roughened planks of the matriarch’s pier, watching the phosphorescent leading edges of the waves coming in. Even with no moon, the sky glowed with Tampa’s everlasting city-aura, and the waves reflected it. The punklets, his youngest pair of brothers, snored lightly at his feet. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The sun would be up soon, stopping the boys’ sneak-and-stalk exercises. They’d barely have time to shower and change before starting the schoolweek: five straight days of pretending to be completely human. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He caught scent of a male, rank with day-old sweat. The snoring twins were too young to produce that odor. <i>So, a pair of the teens has picked me as prey?</i> He grinned at the swells rolling under the pier. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="Default" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Trying to sneak up on him took balls, if nothing else. In the past six years -- no, seven years, since right before Dad had taken up with the punklets’ mother -- only Cassio had succeeded. And Cassio’s reward had been surgery to put his arm back together, followed by the six weeks of physical therapy he’d just completed. Not that it had put a dent in his smart-ass attitude. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >This pair was good. They used the rhythm of the waves to cover their footfalls and their breathing. But their assumption their prey would pay attention to only sight and sound was pure arrogance, which could get them killed. He spoke toward the waves. “At this time of night, the wind comes off the land toward the water. Never expect your quarry to be nose-deaf.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >A moment passed. Then one of the stalkers sighed. “Shit. I thought we had you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Russ and Jimmy. Of course. His cousins were sixteen, six years his junior, and increasingly prone to challenge his authority. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He rolled over as the teens settled in lotus positions beside the sleeping little ones. Russ, identifiable by his mullet haircut, mashed a mosquito on his cheek. “Even if you smelled someone, how could you tell it wasn’t them two?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Jimmy nodded, his dandelion-puff hair bobbing. “We all smell of bugspray.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The punklets stirred. One mumbled, a note of distress. His twin, still deep asleep, put a hand on his arm in an automatic comforting gesture. They settled together. They had long hair like kids on TV. Or, rather, like Russ and Jimmy, the cool rebels of the family. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Little kids could afford hair long enough to get grabbed in a fight. Most of the twins, like Fort himself, kept it short. Jimmy and Russ always had to be different. <i>If I’d known it was you two coming up on me, I’d have grabbed you by the hair and slung you into the water. Two lessons for the price of one.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Too late now</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >. Fort caught a mosquito and pinched it against the splintery pier. “Guess who’s too young to need Right Guard? Guess who isn’t? When it comes your time to hunt down a hyde, you need to remember he has a better nose than you do. Almost dog-sharp. He won’t be as smart as before he crossed over, but he’ll have some cunning left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >His cousins remained silent; the lack of a fight was as close to agreement as he got from them these days. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Fort stretched, popping joint after joint. <i>As soon as I get y’all off to school, I’m taking a nap</i>. After a full weekend of beach camping, he deserved a few hours of complete quiet. Then he could boot up the Commodore and see what he’d been missing on the Compuserve boards. Maybe drum up some business for Double Deuce Security, before the proceeds of the last job ran thin. “Whistle everyone in. First three pair in get showers with hot water. The rest get to wash up at the hose.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“First three is you, the punklets, and us. Game over.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“The punklets don’t need showers, and you two have to stay outside to supervise. Plus, you have PE first period. You can shower then.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“<i>Awww, mannn!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He stretched again, ignoring them, and followed the scent of strong Cuban coffee to the matriarch’s back deck. He paused at the door, unsure whether to knock, and the matriarch opened it a crack. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Good morning.” She cocked her head to the side, like a chickadee, and peered up at him. “Any of your brothers get hauled off by mosquitoes?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“I’m having them counted now,” he said, politely. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Are you Fort or Cassio?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“I’m Fort, ma’am.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Then come in for coffee, do. I don’t have the patience to listen to Cassio moon on about his new Perfect Woman -- I swear he finds a new one every three months! -- but you’re worth talking to.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He smiled. “Thank you.” Wiping his feet, he added, “If Cassio gets his way with the one he’s been sniffing behind the past few weeks, we may all be in for some relief.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She gestured toward a round-tabled breakfast nook overlooking the dock and the waves. Her loudly flowered caftan fluttered with the notion. She hadn’t dressed yet, but she had taken time to crayon-on her lipstick and eyebrows. “Is this female why you’ve asked to speak with me?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“No, ma’am.” He stopped, and considered. Cassio falling in love normally meant heartfelt declarations, bad poetry, and mournful sighs. This time, Cassio falling in love meant a surreptitious photo, copies of the cleverly faked documents in her personnel file, and a plea to find out who the woman really was. He hadn’t found out, but he hadn’t given up trying yet. “I don’t see an immediate connection. Perhaps you might correct me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Sugar, no cream?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Please.” Cassio was the one who liked sugar and double cream. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Angelina’s babies have dropped. It won’t be long now.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“They aren’t mine, regardless of what she says. Nor Cassio’s.” But they very well might be Russ or Jimmy’s, neither of whom was emotionally ready to hive off a family of his own. <i>Meaning they’d be effectively mine anyway, just like the results of Ty’s first bused rubber. Shit.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“I hear she’s an extraordinary feeder, and of course she has a daughter.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“She swore that daughter was mine, until it was past arguing.” No huntsman ever fathered a daughter -- didn’t have the genes to do it. Angelina had been adopted as a toddler and raised with huntsmen, but she had to have been slipping around the back ways with human males, to have turned up with a singlet child, much less a daughter. Angelina had the iron will to eventually become a matriarch, and command obedience among the huntsmen in her territory. But she didn’t have the maturity. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Right now, she was just difficult. He had enough difficulty with the guys.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch filled a pair of small, thick-walled cups. “What if the Guardian says this pair is yours?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >So much for peaceful sleep for a while. I bet the price of diaper service has gone up too. </span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He shrugged and reluctantly took the bench seat behind the round table, even though it put his back to the window, as a nod to the matriarch’s status. “We’d need a new nursery setup. Gave ours away when the punklets outgrew it.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch smiled faintly. “If not protection from Angelina’s claim, and if not authorization to bring in this new female Cassio has fixated on, what did you want of me?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >I want the right to get close to a woman on my own terms. I want to choose what to tell her instead of telling her what you think she can be trusted to hear. I want a say in whether any of my guy have become enough of a risk to be neutered or hunted down like a rabid dog. I want to be treated as an adult, not merely as the eldest of fouteen boys.</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" > He couldn’t see any way to say that without sounding like a whiny-ass adolescent, though, and even if he could, it would lead away from the line of conversation he wanted to pursue. He sipped the coffee, oily and bitter as it was, without the sugar she seemed to have forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Don’t drink that. I haven’t doctored it yet.” She spooned pale golden sugar from an iridescent blue Depression Glass bowl. “I almost said don’t drink that, boy. But you haven’t been a boy for some time, have you? It takes a man to tend his responsibilities, and to keep tending them when the job gets old.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="Default" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >He smiled. The other matriarchs routinely offered him fruit juice, or even milk, and he had to take it to prove he had more sense than ego. Swearing obedience to this one matriarch had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made. She’d gradually loosened the reins since he’d taken over as surrogate parent for his brothers, then his nephews and cousins as well. She’d stopped demanding copies of everyone’s report cards, copies of his shopping lists and bank statements, input on how the boys dressed and wore their hair, details of the punklets’ weights and bowel habits. </span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;color:#000000;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >But if she sold her property to those condo people and left, he’d have to prove himself to her successor. Which might not be possible. He couldn’t protect the guys unless he had a matriarch on his side, or unless he took the big risk, stepped forward into the coming power vacuum as the new Guardian. But as far as he knew, there hadn’t been a Guardian under the age of thirty since World War Two. He needed time. Eight years or ten years. Time. “I want you to put off your retirement.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >A knock sounded. Laertes, or Horatio, opened the door enough to poke in his disheveled head. He wore a spray of green sandspurs over his ear. “Russ said me and Ray could shower inside?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch’s painted-on eyebrows rose. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Shit.</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" > “Do you just open a door in somebody else’s <i>home</i>, Larry? Why bother knocking?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The boy’s eyes went wide, all chocolate and hurt innocence. “Russ said you were expecting us, to go on in.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch chuckled. “That sounds like Russell. Let him know my lawn needs his personal attention this week. The roof and gutters need sweeping too. You’ll find towels on the backs of the toilets.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Thanks! Um… Where’s the bathrooms, please, ma’am?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She directed the parade of reeking boys, each pair carrying a paper sack with clean clothes for school, while refilling her cup and Fort’s. Tybalt’s boys were high-fiving each other and crowing over the fact neither of them had been tagged all weekend. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The punklets came in last, yawning, Robin wiping his nose as he had been all week. Without invitation, they crawled onto the bench seat beside him and leaned in. They’d slept through most of the past night. At their age, though, they really needed more than most of a night. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch shut the door harder than necessary. “Good grief! Those two can’t be old enough to stay up all night!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The punklets sat up straight, and Robin made a farting sound in his nose. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Fort put his arms around them anyway. “They’re six, and we have a deal. I only treat them like babies when they act like babies. For example, by making disgusting noises at the table, or in front of the matriarch.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >To his relief, the punklets stood up and bowed, like the little hams they both were. Being huntsmen, they strongly resembled their mother, who’d been a professional mime before Dad went hyde on her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Robin wiped his nose on a paper napkin. “We’re sorry, ma’am. We won’t do it again.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Not on purpose,” his twin added, making a face. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch softened. “I bet y’all like peanut butter on your toast.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Waffles?” Robin asked hopefully. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Fort growled. “What did you mean to say?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Sounds great, ma’am!” He squeaked, looking terrified. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch burst out laughing, her eyes closed and her hands splayed in front of her face. Wiping her eyes with one flowered sleeve, she went back to the fridge. She returned with two glasses of milk and sat down opposite Fort. “Why do you want me not to retire?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >You would have to say that in front of the twin tape recorders. </span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >Who might repeat any qualms he voiced in front of the next matriarch, effectively pooping in the pool before he could show off his swimming strokes. He smiled and gave the boys a measured warning stare from under his eyelashes. “You’re awfully young to retire, and you excel in your job. You and the Guardian are a perfect team.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She curled one side of her mouth. She did not, however, comment on his gall in judging her performance. “We are. We are also getting married, after we both sell out our properties. Taxes, you know. Then we’re moving to Costa Rica.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;" >Costa Rica? Someplace in South America? Central, maybe? Why? </span></i></span><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“What could I do to convince you both to postpone your retirement?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >“Until you’re old enough to be Guardian?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >That shot, from nowhere, took his breath. Who’d been talking? Nobody. He hadn’t breathed a word of that secret ambition. Not even to Cassio. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >She grinned, plainly delighted, then sobered. “The basic qualification is to be thirty-five <i>or</i> to have raised teenagers. The unspoken qualification is you have to be married to someone who has the qualities to be a matriarch in her own right. You’ve raised teenagers. If one matriarch gave you total support, you’d be a shoo-in. But it won’t be me, because I’m leaving. It won’t be anyone else around here either; they wanted the batch of you…” Her eyes flicked to the little ones, and back to him. “Neutralized, after your father and his twin crossed over. They said every one of y’all would go hyde within two years of puberty, but you lost only Tybalt!” Her eyes went fierce, burning through the grandmotherly softness of her face. “And it wasn’t <i>you</i> who lost him!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The punklets tensed, huddling against him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:100%;" >The matriarch looked at them again, and her tone gentled. “What it boils down to, Fort, is you’ve proven all the biddie-hens wrong; they won’t forgive you that. So you have to bring in a new matriarch. You have to find a wife soon, Fort. As in right now. She has to be emotionally stable, intelligent, and tough-minded. And to keep you going under the strain of being a Guardian, she’ll have to be one hell of a feeder. Preferably, she should bring in at least one daughter. I won’t call Angelina perfect, but she’s available and she has promise. If not Angelina, who?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="NormalLI" style="text-indent: 0.4in;"><i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:14;" ><span style="font-size:100%;">Who indeed?</span> </span></i><span style=";font-family:&quot;;font-size:12;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Nikki Leighhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00985309338453728557noreply@blogger.com0